The Wild Prince
by royalmagician
Summary: King Laufey's dying wish is a treaty for peace to be devised with the marriage of the Jotun, Loki, and the Asgardian, Sigyn, to ensure it. But, long held grudges and war may prove to be more desired than an end to bloodshed. Loki/Sigyn.
1. Foreboding News

_**The Wild Prince**_

**Summary: **King Laufey's dying wish is a treaty for peace to be devised with the marriage of the Jotun, Loki, and the Asgardian, Sigyn, to ensure it. But, long held grudges and war may prove to be more desired than an end to bloodshed. Loki/Sigyn.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters; they belong to Marvel comics or Norse Mythology.

**Warnings: **Violence, Swearing

**A/N: **This is an AU piece where Loki is the crown prince of Jotunheim and Sigyn is adopted into the Asgardian royal family. This world is fairly 'normal'—though there is magic—and I modeled Asgard after the Roman Empire and Jotunheim to be more like the Picts in northern Britain. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter One—Foreboding News**

* * *

Asgard, the envy of all the nine great realms. Overflowing with wealth, prosperity, and the might of a vast empire, Asgard seemed to be nothing short of the perfect kingdom to all travelers that flocked to the realm's capital city, Idavoll, to gawk at its wonders. This was, however, a false pretense the empire projected. The realm had its difficulties like its eight neighbors, the only difference being that theirs had been so long-going that it was seemed permanent in the minds of Asgard's citizens; as if the conflict would never be resolved and should stay that way.

The great kingdom had been expanding rapidly by the kings and generals of the unmatchable legions of Asgard and had turned the realm into an empire by the Fifth Age, when the Emperor Odin ascended to the throne. The borders stretched as far south as the seas to Alfheim, west to the mountains of Nidavellir, east to the dark forests of Svartalfheim, and to the reaches of the north, to the rugged, frozen waste of Jotunheim, the land of the savages.

At first, it had been infrequent—thought simply to be a misunderstanding—that Jotun warlords would raid the Asgardian garrisons and settlers that inhabited the far reaches of the Asgard empire which used to be Jotunheim territory. Dignitaries were sent to compromise with the king of the Jotun warlords, Laufey. The Ice King, as Laufey was mockingly referred to as in the southern realms, agreed to see the Asgardian embassy and hope for peace along the border grew.

The Asgardian ambassador only made it as far as Laufey's antechamber before he, and the rest of the embassy, was massacred. His head was sent back to Emperor Odin as a warning. But Odin was Asgardian and he wouldn't be deterred that easily. So Laufey allowed his warlords the continuing permission to raid.

In response, outposts—strongholds built near villages of settlers for shelter should Jotun raiders attack—were erected. The legions of Asgardian warriors held these outposts, but with every fort that was constructed by these companies of soldiers, the Jotun burned another to the ground. They struck in the dead of the night, with torches in hand and their bodies painted with swirls of blue—the traditional Markings of warriors and hunters in Jotunheim. The forts would be set ablaze as the Jotun melted back into the darkness they had come from.

Either side neither lost nor gained any ground or advantage through this style of guerilla warfare. Neither side dared to attack in the open, preferring night attacks to the risk of direct confrontation. The war was not official, but it was fought with every passing day by both the Asgardian settlers and legions of soldiers and the Jotun warlords and their men. Blood of the innocent was spilled right along with the blood of the guilty, without heed to crime or lack thereof.

Asgard was the envy of the nine great realms. It was a mighty empire that extended to the far east, south, and west. It pushed north, fighting against the savage people that the Jotuns were considered, leading to bloodshed that would dye the dark earth along the borders a crimson red.

* * *

A loud crash of metal against marble floors is what shook a young woman, her fiery red curls loose about her, from her studies and making her jump slightly in surprise. Glancing around at the cushions she had situated herself on in the palace's throne room, she realized that the source of the noise was not in her immediate vicinity. Sighing, she gathered her loose, white skirts about her and climbed to her feet, carefully marking the page she was on in the manuscript she was poring over before the disturbance, tucking the delicate parchments under her arm.

Stepping out from the alcove the cushions were in, she peered into the rest of the throne room, cringing slightly when she saw her father—adopted father, at least—striding up to his throne, radiating anger. Her brothers—adopted brothers—hurried after him, both wearing identical expressions of apprehension for their father's rage as they halted at the bottom of the dais. She knew well enough to avoid the Emperor when he was angry; his tongue lashed at every unfortunate person without provocation, no matter how unsuspecting.

As far as she could tell from her position, her elder brother, Thor, seemed to be trying to talk calmly with their father while her younger brother, Balder, was slightly petrified and didn't utter a word. Their father seemed to be doing a marvelous job of ignoring them, as he often did when he was angry, and now sat in a brooding silence on his golden throne. Suddenly he barked, "Sigyn, stop skulking in the shadows."

She paled at the sound her name before she heaved a sigh, shuffling her feet as she came to stand before the dais with her brothers. "Yes, Father?"

Emperor Odin wasn't her father, her fiery red hair was testimony enough to that, but he had made her his own when she was merely three. Her father, the great General Iwaldi that commanded the northern cohort of the Asgardian legions along the borders, had been brutally slain at the hands of Jotun warlords, leaving her with no family as he mother died bringing her into the world. The Emperor had treated her like his own daughter since and she viewed him and his wife, the Queen Frigga, as her father and mother.

"Seeing as you're the only competent one of my children, I want your opinion on a matter," Odin began, giving Thor a stern look before returning his gaze to his daughter. "We have received reports today that Laufey is on his death bed. Thor thinks this is the opportune moment to march north with all of Asgard's might to seize Jotunheim."

"With all due respect, Father, may I hear Thor's reasoning?" Sigyn asked, knowing her place. The Emperor nodded his permission and she turned expectantly to her brother, raising a questioning eyebrow at him.

"My dear sister," Thor began, his voice booming with enthusiasm, "You are wise to hear me through. As I explained to Father, now is the time to strike! The Ice King is weak; too weak to defend against an invading force and lead his warlords. He will die soon, if the reports are true, so we must act quickly before his heir, Prince…prince…"

Here, Thor trailed off, clearly lost on what the heir to Jotunheim throne was named. "Loki," Balder supplied.

"Yes, Loki. Prince Loki," Thor agreed, before hurriedly adding the foreign prince's title, for propriety's sake. "Before Prince Loki can ascend to the throne and become a new, strong, young king that would easily defend against Asgard forces."

Sigyn carefully considered her older brother for a moment. If she was going to be honest, she found this plan to be a rather founded one. Foolhardy, possibly, but its logic was sound and in theory it would work. Glancing at her younger brother, she inquired, curiously, "Balder, do Jotuns accept young kings as soon as they ascend the throne?"

Balder scrunched up his face as he always did when he was thinking, his little button nose creasing at the bridge of it. Balder, the youngest of the three royal children, spent most of his time in the royal library or sprawled out in the gardens, his nose in a book. While Sigyn read of adventures and romances, Balder spent most of his time learning of the different realms, of mathematics and science, of history and war strategy. He would be able to answer any question she asked him.

"Well," Balder began after a moment of thought. "Traditionally, a Jotun king must prove himself by defeating each of his warlords in single combat before his coronation to prove his worthiness to the throne. They have a big festival for thirty days, with a different combatant for twenty-nine nights. On the thirtieth night, he is crowned king. So, technically, yes is the answer to your question."

"Huh, well," Sigyn said in thought. She had been wondering on Thor's point of Loki ascending the throne as a young, strong king, if that would really be the case, but now she supposed this was indeed true through Balder's explanation—technically, anyway. Taking another pause for thought, she finally said slowly, "Father, I believe that Thor's idea is not a completely foolish one; it could very well be a successful invasion plan. Though, I believe that given the amount of time we have between Laufey's passing and the ascension of his son, it would be improbable to raise the legions and march north in time."

"A wise judgment, my daughter," Odin nodded, approvingly before turning to Thor and saying, "Thor, you wish to fight but, you must realize, as a ruler of a kingdom, fighting is not always the best option. You mustn't be rash in your battles." Sigyn glanced at Thor out of the corner of her eye, seeing the small nod he gave. She knew that nod and she mentally sighed at it. Thor didn't agree with the Emperor whatsoever. All he was nodding to was the fact that he understood Odin's wisdom, not that he was going to stay true to it.

"Now, be gone with you three," Odin said, wearily, as he waved his three children away. Thor immediately set off down the great hall of the throne room, making for the gilded doors at the far end, while Balder and Sigyn filed out the hidden door to the right of the dais.

Balder turned to Sigyn as soon as they were in the narrow servant's passage and strolling along it, heading towards the gardens, and he said, "I know that look of Thor's. He's planning something."

"Something foolish and completely against Father's wishes," nodded Sigyn in agreement before adding, "How long do you think it'll be before he convinces the Warriors Three and Lady Sif that it would be a splendid idea to ride to Jotunheim alone and attempt to conquer it themselves?"

"I'd say a day if Volstagg isn't hungry," Balder replied. Sigyn gave him a dry look and the fourteen year old boy laughed, saying, "But then again, Volstagg is _always_ hungry, so no less than a half an hour."

"Would there be any point in us trying to convince him otherwise?" Sigyn sighed as the siblings stepped from the passage and into the lush palace gardens, easily making their way to a pond that had been a favorite childhood hiding place and an ideal swimming spot on particularly hot summer days.

Balder shrugged. "Once he gets something into his head, Thor doesn't let it go."

"He'll get himself killed," Sigyn mumbled and her brother nodded in silent agreement. The brother and sister both wore similar expressions of dread for their eldest brother's actions, both wishing that he couldn't so easily convince his friends into risking their lives recklessly.

* * *

"Ah, good," Thor's booming voice echoed through the small feast hall that the Warriors Three and Lady Sif had long since claimed as their own. "I am pleased to see you are all together."

"Aren't we always together?" Volstagg, a burly man with a mane of red hair, asked rhetorically, a mutton piece in hand.

"Yes, it's like we're attached at the hip," nodded Fandral, glancing briefly over at Thor before returning to the small hand mirror he had, carefully perfecting the curl of his mustache. Hogun made a sound of agreement to this statement, not terribly inclined to talk, while Sif just gazed wearily at Thor. Sif, of all the Warriors, had known the Asgardian prince the longest. She could tell when he had an idea; he couldn't stop smiling eagerly and had a determined confidence in his stride. Just as he did now.

"Listen, my friends, I have a proposition to make," Thor said eagerly, settling at the feast table with his companions. "The Emperor has received a report only an hour ago from the north: King Laufey is dying."

"Well, that's awfully good of him," Fandral said, slightly distracted by a loose strand of hair that fell over his eyes.

Volstagg laughed around his mutton, saying, "Why didn't he do this years ago? Would have saved us a lot of trouble."

Sif rolled her eyes at the Warriors, before turning to Thor and nodding, "Go on, Thor. I know there's more."

Thor seemed pleased by her interest and continued on, "The Ice King is weak and he's not capable of leading his warlords. So, while the Jotun armies are left leaderless, I propose we ride north and attack Jotunheim once and for all. We must do this soon as well. His heir, the Prince Loki, will become a strong, young king that will be able to lead his realm against invading forces."

"Absolutely not," Sif immediately replied, before any of the Warriors could form much of an opinion on Thor's plan. "That is foolish at best and a suicide mission at the very least. There are only five of us, how do you expect us to invade an entire country?"

"We would not be invading it, we would be simply taking Utgard," Thor replied, enthusiastically, saying this as if taking Jotunheim's royal palace, Utgard, would be a simple task. Sif's expression was evidence enough that she was unconvinced. Thor continued on, hurriedly, "Sif, don't you trust me?" There was a pause as Sif, not knowing how to respond, just gazed back at him. Thor turned to his other friends. "Fandral, who was the one to successfully defeat the Svartalfheim marauders along the western border, rescuing you from certain death?"

"You did," Fandral replied, without hesitation.

"And Hogun, who was the one to vouch for you when suspicion fell on you for being from Vanaheim?" Thor questioned, turning to his friend.

"You did," Hogun answered, simply.

"And Volstagg, who was the one to slay the great wild boar after it gored you, bringing not only honor to your hunt but roast to your table?" Thor continued on.

"You did," Volstagg said, seeming contented by the thought of that large boar roast and how particularly good it had been, despite having a tusk-sized wound in his shoulder.

"And Lady Sif, who was the one to convince the Emperor to allow you to train as a warrior amongst Asgard's Crimson Hawks?" Thor asked, finally coming to the last of his friends and knowing her answer before she even gave it. The Crimson Hawks were Odin's personal company of soldiers and Asgard's finest warriors, after the Warriors Three and Lady Sif, that is. To train with them was a great honor, especially for a woman when the company was traditionally strictly for men.

"You did," Sif replied, seeming not entirely pleased with saying those words.

"So, my friends, I ask: when have I failed you before? When have I given you reason not to trust my judgment?" Thor questioned, knowing he was pressuring his friends into this mission through their loyalty to him, but, it was the only way to see his plan fulfilled.

"Never," Hogun said, solemnly. The other Warriors nodded their agreement to this, even Lady Sif, albeit reluctantly.

"Lead on, Thor, we shall ride by your side," Fandral said with a genuine smile across his handsome face. Thor grinned at his friends, before hurriedly launching into strategy planning; they would need to leave soon and under the cover of night it they wished to make it to Jotunheim on schedule.

* * *

The cold never bothered him. He wasn't bothered by the bite it had against his bare skin nor the cool wet when a snow flurry swirled by him, carried on the wind. It was his essence, it was his life. The cold was Jotunheim and Jotunheim was him, as the heir to the Ice Throne. The young prince took in a lungful of frozen air, before wheeling his mount—a coal black stallion named Gyllir—away from the barren terrain before them and spurring it back the way the two had come.

He had to get away from his guardsmen, so confining was their presence, so he just urged his stallion away from them and let Gyllir run as far and as fast as he could carry him. The prince felt as though he had been riding the wind, through the dark, bitterly cold forest until they burst from the woods and onto the moorlands, barrenly rugged as they marched up to the base of the great snowcapped peaks of the Jotun mountains. He didn't know how long he had sat in silence, observing the home he loved and was, but he soon realized he must return to his guards, who were—no doubt—frantically searching the forest road they had been traveling for any sign of their prince.

Loki clicked to his mount, making Gyllir pick up his slow, plodding walk to a trot and soon they were in the shadows of the looming trees. Every once and a while, the prince would duck under low fir branches, shaking his black hair free of the snow that fell onto it. "Prince Loki!" a voice called from somewhere before him and the prince's sharp eyes soon focused onto a guard trotting towards him, looked rather hared.

The prince inclined his head to the man as he passed, not bothering to slow Gyllir, the guard wheeled his gelding around after him repeating, "Prince Loki! We've been looking for you for almost two hours!" Loki just shrugged uncaringly as the guard's mount fell into stride with his own.

He had been surrounded by his guards for nearly two weeks as he had traveled through Jotunheim on behalf of his father, making sure each warlord was following their king's wishes. He hadn't run into trouble—word of his own formidably in battle seemed to proceed him—though bandits were common along the main roads and he was thus surrounded by a jittery bunch of guards that truly were a trial to his patience.

"We just received word from a courier," the guard continued on, undeterred his prince's uncaring demeanor. "The King…the King is on his death bed."

Loki sharply drew his mount to a stop, turning in the saddle to better look at the guard to his side, searching his face for truth. Loki's green eyes widened at the sight, the guard's expression only holding honestly. "Regroup with the other guards, I am returning to Utgard," the prince said, speaking levelly and coldly—as was the way of the Jotun prince. Without waiting for a response, Loki dug his heels into his mount's black sides. Gyllir sprang forward making the prince's emerald cloak whip out behind him. Loki hunched closely to Gyllir's mane and urged him onward with every stride, riding so fast that only the wind could match their speed.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading and leave a review with your thoughts, comments, questions, or what-have-you.


	2. To Impress a Princess

**Warnings: **Swearing and the like

**A/N: **So, expect fairly regular updates on this one! (Hurray!)

* * *

**Chapter Two—To Impress a Princess**

* * *

Sigyn adjusted her stola, the white clothe rippling around her form as she plucked at it. She currently stood, waiting, in the entrance hall with nothing to do but fidget. Her worried blue eyes swept across the hall, keeping a keen watch on the many arches that lined the hall, vigilant for any of the Warriors Three, Sif, or Thor. The rough slaps of sandals on marble distracted her and she turned to blink at the great columns of the entrance.

"Princess Sigyn!" greeted a handsome brown haired man that the footsteps belonged to. Theoric was his name and he was the second-in-command to Odin's Crimson Hawks; he also had been a longtime friend to Sigyn. When they first met, she was a blurry eyed five years old, crying because of a scrapped knee, and he had been gangly, awkward ten year old who came across her and offered her a comforting smile. They had been friends ever since.

Though, they had long since grown up from a crying little girl and a gangly adolescent boy. Theoric was large with muscles that rivaled Thor's, curly brown hair framing a handsomely chiseled face that currently held a perfectly white smile. "Good morning, Theoric," Sigyn replied, nodding cordially to her friend.

"I haven't seen you in such a long time," Theoric said, his teasing smile stretching across his face. "Have you purposefully been hiding from me?" Sigyn gave him a thin smile, but was distracted with keeping her watch for her brother or any of his friends. Theoric noticed this, despite Sigyn not being terribly obvious about her efforts but he _had_ known her for eleven years, and asked, "What distracts you, Sigyn?"

Her blue eyes flitted back to look at Theoric. "My brother," she replied, knowing this was enough explanation for Theoric to understand.

Theoric nodded, having experienced, first-hand, of Thor's escapades. He had both fought alongside the Asgardian Prince and assisted his sister in trying to deter him, but thus far, he had never seen Sigyn successful in these plights. He would still attempt though. "What trouble has he created today?"

"He has convinced the Warriors Three and Sif to ride with him to Jotunheim to invade while he has the chance," Sigyn explained without moving her eyes away from their watching before adding, looking Theoric in the eyes for emphasis, "King Laufey is dying."

"How thoughtful of him," Theoric quipped, gaffing slightly.

Sigyn gave him a dry look and he just grinned back. "Thor's going to get himself killed if he tries to attack Utgard. Just because the king is dying doesn't mean they suddenly don't have savage warlords protecting him."

"Hmm, that does seem to be a bit of an issue," Theoric nodded thoughtfully before adding, "He won't be persuaded from this plan, will he?"

"Not likely," Sigyn shook her head. "You know him as well as I, you can agree with me that once an idea comes into his head, he does not let go of it."

Theoric sighed as he nodded his agreement, the same thoughts of death and failure running through his mind that was in Sigyn's. "Does Balder not have any ideas on persuading him?" he asked.

"He's currently trying to bribe the stable hands not to allow Thor or the others their horses. But, I'm fairly sure the grooms are petrified of defying the crown prince, no matter how much gold is offered," replied Sigyn, her expression downtrodden and miserable.

"Well, there's no way around it then, is there?" Theoric asked before continuing on, not waiting for her answer, "I shall accompany Thor to ensure that he doesn't die on this latest escapade."

"No, Theoric, I don't want you throwing away your life too," Sigyn protested but Theoric ignored her words as Thor entered into the entrance hall and the brown haired man hurried over to the Asgardian prince. Sigyn stepped in their direction, opening her mouth to call after her friend but then thought better of it as Thor's booming laughter ran throughout the hall and he clapped Theoric on the back.

Sigyn bit her lip. Was she to lose everyone she cared about to Jotunheim?

* * *

"Let me through," was Prince Loki's singular, icy command at the guards as he strode through the palace, attempting to keep his dignity by resisting to sprint, instead compromising with himself on a rapid stride. He was in a vicious mood, snapping coldly at all guards he came across that attempted to block his path. All of them hurriedly springing aside, knowing the tales of the magic their prince was capable of and not wanting to risk his wrath.

Bursting into the king's chambers—the guards standing aside when they were faced with Loki's glare that was a cold rage—the prince halted his march, horror written across his face. His father was deathly pale, without any of the blue Markings of a warrior painted across him, as he lay surrounded by wolf pelts. "Father?" Loki managed to croak out around the sudden lump in his throat.

Laufey opened bleary eyes and smiled as they focused on his son. "Ah, my son," the king said, his once majestic and powerful voice now nothing but a feeble, weak whisper. "You have heard of my condition, then? I fear it is soon to be my time."

"No, Father!" Loki protested, rushing over to Laufey's bedside, his horror and cold rage forgotten as he kneeled, taking one of his father's boney, wrinkly hands in his own. "I'll heal you! I will! You mustn't die, you still have so much to teach me and I—"

"Loki, my summons to Helheim draws near," Laufey interrupted the prince, his voice, though weak, still commanding his son's attention. "I have taught you as well as a father can, you must now become the man and king I know you can be."

"But, Father, I…" Loki trailed off, not knowing what to say. He was watching his father, the man that he had held in such reverence and respect all his life, slowly being pulled away from the living world. Laufey was, though unknown to most Jotuns, a good father to his young, motherless son. He had taken Loki upon his knee when the boy was still small, and he would talk of the realm, of ruling, and share with him what wisdom his own father had passed onto him.

"Loki, I have been battling my death for years," Laufey said, before giving a faint smile, "But now I can finally give into it knowing I have done my best with you." Loki opened his mouth to protest, but the king did not allow him. "Now, listen. Once I have gone to Helheim's gates, your coronation trials will begin. Do not cry for me, do not grieve. You must give the appearance of being strong before, during, and after your matches with the warlords. I have every faith in your ability; rely on your speed and intelligence. _Those_are things the lords rarely have."

Loki chuckled at this, amused that his father still had his sense of humor even as his life faded. He did not like that his Father was so willingly going to death, but he respected Laufey's wishes. The prince knew he could heal the king of his current ailment with his magic, but age was not a plague that only had to be defeated once, it would return to the king and Laufey knew it was his time to travel to Helheim, the realm of the dead.

"After _that_ business is taken care of," Laufey continued, as if defeating twenty-nine warlords was a simple task. "I want you to ensure peace with Asgard."

"W-what?" Loki spluttered, looking taken aback. "Father, they are the ones invading our homelands, why should we offer peace?"

"My son, my reign has been stained by the blood of hundreds of Jotuns that have died because of the border dispute. A wise king would have settled for peace to protect the prosperity of his people, which I was foolish enough to ignore when I ordered the killing of the Asgardian embassy all those years ago." Weariness settled onto Laufey's face as he remembered those long-forgotten early years of the conflict. Before Loki was born and when the Queen Farbauti was still alive. "You shall be a king with more wisdom than I, Loki."

"Father, you were a good king—" Loki began to protest, genuinely believing his words.

"But you shall be a better one," Laufey interrupted before he coughed feebly and said, "I am fading quickly, Loki, so listen to me now. Send a treaty to the Emperor, proposing peace along the borders. The terms will be for the Asgardians to move their borders back one hundred miles and all Jotun raids will cease. To ensure this peace, propose a union between yourself and an Asgardian princess. That is the only way."

"But Father, what if they do not meet these terms?" Loki asked. The Asgardians would sooner return to their borders they held one hundred and fifty years ago—one hundred miles south of the current ones along the Ifing River—than the Jotuns would allow them to gain another hundred miles. But, the prince conceded mentally, it would be a wise first proclamation as king to try to stop further bloodshed.

"Then, it shall be war," replied Laufey, looking grave. "Full war. Offer them that ultimatum, test if they will face the wrath of Jotunheim." Loki nodded silently, his mind taking in this and already forming the wording of the treaty. "Now, leave me to rest."

"Father, I will stay by your side," Loki replied immediately, not hesitating.

Laufey smiled weakly at his son, coughing before saying, "I shall not die in my slumber; I shall know when it is upon me. You will be called when it is my time." With that, the king warily closed his eyes, apparently awake only long enough to relay his orders to his son. Loki squeezed his father's hand one last time before placing it gently back in the warmth of the wolf pelts. The prince stood, regarding his slumbering father for an instant before turning and striding from the room.

Upon slipping through the chamber's door, he addressed the two guards that stood on either side. "Send for me if there's any change in the king's health," the prince commanded. The guards nodded their agreement, obviously shaking slightly in fear of Loki. He ignored them, instead sweeping off down the hallway, towards the practice arena to train and think.

* * *

Sigyn and Balder stood in the courtyard as they watched the dust settle in the wake of the six warriors, riding to Jotunheim. "What did Thor tell Father they were doing?" Sigyn asked, not taking her eyes off the great gates of the royal palace as they were swung shut by the sentries.

"The Warriors Three have decided to take Thor on a hunting trip in hopes of distracting him from Laufey and Jotunheim," Balder replied, looking up at his elder sister, a frown on his face.

"And he believed that?" Sigyn asked, glancing down at her little brother, disbelieving.

Balder shrugged and said as he turned to climb the marble stairs that led into the open-aired entrance hall, "I think Father was just relieved Thor didn't want to go to Jotunheim anymore."

"Or so he believes," mumbled Sigyn as she trailed after her brother, lifting the hem of her stola so as to avoid getting it caught under foot. Balder glanced over his shoulder at Sigyn, fixing her with a somewhat dry look as the two passed under the great marble columns.

"Sigyn! Balder!" called a feminine voice from farther along the hall. The prince and princess's attention was drawn to a stately woman gliding towards them, her white chiton rippling with her slightest of movements. Her blond hair was draped over her shoulder, the same exact shade of Balder's mop of hair.

"Mother!" greeted Sigyn, an immediate smile coming across her face. Queen Frigga extended her hands towards her children, each one taking a hold of one.

"You wouldn't mind escorting your dear, old mother on a stroll in the gardens would you?" she asked, though she needn't not. All three of the royal children absolutely adored their Mother and would spring at any opportunity to spend time with her. The two nodded and the queen smiled, saying, "Good. I haven't seen either of you in such a long time and I have so much to talk with you both about."

There was a brief lull in conversation as the three exited through a side archway of the entrance hall and into a section of the royal gardens, not far from the swimming hole. "Now, tell me, Sigyn, has that handsome young Theoric asked permission to court you yet?" Frigga asked, getting right down to the business of Sigyn's love life, or lack thereof.

Balder snickered as Sigyn spluttered, "M-Mother! Theoric is a very dear friend but that's all he ever will be, a _friend!_"

The queen just fixed her daughter with a knowing look, her lips twitching into a smile while Balder seemed to be trying to decide if he should laugh hysterically or feel awkward about the whole situation. "Now, Balder," Frigga said, turning her attention to her youngest son. "Tell me, what's this I hear about you shirking training in the mornings?" Sigyn let out a soft sigh, relieved her Mother wasn't persistent in the subject of Theoric and her relationship with him.

Balder seemed slightly taken aback by his mother's sudden question and for a moment, he did a marvelous impression of a fish-out-of-water. "Well," Balder began once he had come up with an excuse. "I've undertaken a very extensive research project and I need to devout as much time as possible to my studies—"

"But yet you have enough time to go for horseback rides every afternoon?" Frigga interrupted, raising a thin, blond eyebrow at her son. Balder opened his mouth to reply before closing and mumbling a coherent string of words under his breath, obviously having been bested by the queen. Frigga smiled pleasantly before asking her two younger children, "Now, what's this I hear of Thor lying to the Emperor?"

Sigyn and Balder stole glances at one another before turning fearful eyes at their mother. The blond woman seemed to be expecting this reaction as she said, "The entrance hall cares echoes, my dears. I could hear the whole thing."

* * *

Theoric shifted slightly in his saddle. He was used to long amounts of riding without breaks, but this was something else entirely. The small band of warriors had been traveling steadily north for the past five days, switching horses at inns along the roads and sleeping for three or four hours at a time before moving again. They had managed to cover ground that usually at least two weeks to travel.

They were only a half day's ride from the borderlands, currently paused at a fork in the road. Theoric's mount, a gray mare that had a gentle disposition but was nothing like his own fiery chestnut destrier, snorted and pawed at the ground, reflecting its rider's anxiety and annoyance. Sif and Fandral where arguing against Thor on which road to take—left to the northeast or right to the northwest. The northwest was a shorter route to Utgard but would be more exposed and they would be more likely to be apprehended by Jotun warlords or rogues that patrolled the roads for wealthy travelers.

By the looks Hogun and Volstagg were exchanging, Theoric wasn't the only that could feel a head ache arising from the dispute. "Northeast would be the safer route—we'd be more likely to succeed in our quest!" Sif argued, quite soundly.

"Time is not on our side, and the northwest route would save on what little hours of opportunity remain! For all we know, as we argue here, Laufey may be passing and his heir is ascending the throne," Thor replied, stoutly.

"Let's just take a vote, shall we?" proposed Volstagg. The numbers favored the northwest and the riders soon set forth from the crossroads and along their way, Theoric nudging his horse along. They had run through seven horses each thus far and he was worried that at this rate, the mounts wouldn't be the only things exhausted by the time they reached Jotunheim. As the days before had been spent, the riders were content on journeying farther north in silence, which was agreeable with Theoric. He was too lost in thought to hold a decent conversation with at this moment.

His mind seemed to be sifting through thoughts in a cycling process. First was the deep contemplation of _what_, exactly, he was doing riding north towards Jotunheim to face—possible—death. In the very least, when the warriors returned to Idavoll there would be serious consequences from the Emperor. By then, he would remember why he had volunteered his sword to the quest. Sigyn's smiling face flashed through his mind, usually making a slight blush redden his cheeks while a smile twitched on his lips.

He wasn't entirely sure when he began to notice how lovely her smile was or how her red curls were beautiful as they flicked about her as so much as slightly moved. Her laugh caused an odd feeling in his stomach while her caring words made his chest seem to flutter. He thought they were very strange emotions for a warrior to be feeling, and initially he had done his absolute best to ignore them. But, as they persisted, he accepted them are they were and focused his efforts on Sigyn returning these odd feelings. He planned to ask permission to court her that was _if_ he returned from this adventure.

Why was he riding to Jotunheim? To impress Sigyn and only for that reason.

"Halt," a deep booming voice came from just off the road the warriors traveled. Theoric blinked, realizing he had been so lost in thought that the night had snuck upon him. Thor raised a hand and the band of warriors steadied their horses down to stop as a large, dark figure emerged from the shadows of the woods that surrounded the road on either side.

Theoric recognized the golden armor upon the man that appeared from the shadows. Though his face was hooded by the night, Theoric thought he saw the glint of the warrior's famous golden eyes. This had to be Heimdall, the most famed warrior to ever serve along the northern borders of Asgard. He had not thought they would come across him, but if the tales were true and Heimdall did indeed guard the northwest road against the Jotuns—the first line of defense should the northern savages decide to invade Asgard—then Theoric supposed here was the place they would meet him.

"Heimdall," Thor greeted, recognizing the warrior as well. "I am Prince Thor, heir—"

But Heimdall interrupted him. "I know who you are, princeling. I also know of why you ride so hastily north in the cover of the night."

"Then you shall allow us to pass?" Thor questioned, raising a blond bushy brow to the other man.

"I have foreseen your quest and its fate," Heimdall replied, cryptically. "I will allow you to pass, this future has been set." Theoric blinked. He had also heard the tales of Heimdall's golden eyes granting him the power of foresight, but he had always believed them to just that—tales. "I cannot interfere with this destiny. Continue on with your quest, young warriors." The golden armed warrior, nodding his farewell to the company, seemed to dissolve back into the shadow hence he came.

Before he was engulfed by the shadows, Theoric swore he saw Heimdall giving him a saddened expression. Theoric did not have much time to dwell upon this as he gathered the reins of his mare in his hands and urged her forward, the rest of the warriors' mounts already springing back to journey along the darkened forest road that would lead them to the moorlands of Jotunheim and up to base of the Jotun mountains, to where Utgard was nestled into the very base of a frozen mountain.

* * *

**A/N: **So, chapter two! I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading and leave a review with comment, question, or what-have-you!


	3. Honor in Battle

**Warning: **Violence

**A/N: **On a side note, I discovered while researching this story that Laufey (in Norse Mythology) was actually Loki's mother and Farbauti was his father...I suppose Laufey is just easier to pronounce so she became a he for sake of ease in the Marvel-verse. Huh. But, I ramble.

* * *

**Chapter Three—Honor in Battle**

* * *

Loki sat silently in his personal study, his fingers tossing tongues of magic into the air, attempting to focus his mind upon the text before him. Laufey had practically banished him from the vicinity of the king's chambers, the prince had been skulking about so much, and so the prince had retreated to his studies.

Typically, magic had the ability to completely detach him from the world around him, to wrap him in a different realm filled with wonder and the possibly to do anything he so desired. Typically, he would be muttering new spells under his breath from one of his many incantation books, smiling with pleasure when they were successful and frowning when they weren't, paging through to his current book and searching for his mistake or a flaw in the spell. It was usually the latter of the two.

But, not today. Not even ice magic could take his mind away from the current worries that plagued his mind. His father was dying. There was absolutely nothing he could possibly do about it and he would be ascending the throne within a month of his father's passing. He would have no time to mourn as the warlords would be sent for immediately to congregate upon Utgard.

He would battle against his first opponent the night after Laufey's death.

This, of course, would be right before he sends a courier to Asgard with the peace treaty that would bind him in marriage to an Asgardian princess, a member of the very country his people loathed. He would make his nation look like they were giving in before the might of the Asgardian Empire. His people would despise him and the warlords would attempt to assassinate him. And all of this, requested by his dying father.

Loki was seriously considering the sanity of the ailing king. His mind had raised the question if this was the influence of death speaking, that Laufey wasn't in his right mind. But then, he remembers the sincerity of his father's face, the truth and justness of his words, and Loki knew that the king was right in this request.

The prince sighed, wishing this wasn't the task he was set with. The magic that leapt from his fingers suddenly burst into blames, blue and violent, reflecting his frustration.

Cursing loudly, Loki shot up from his seat and away from the priceless and very flammable spell books and scrolls that cluttered his studying table. Shouting the reverse spell to put out the flames sprouting from his fingertips, Loki decided he needed to get outdoors for a time.

* * *

"Mother?" Sigyn called, her voice barely above a whisper as she peered into her mother's parlor—the only place the queen could possibly be at that hour of night with the Emperor away.

The queen, her blond head bent over her needle work, turned in her reclining on the cushions to smile at her daughter. "Good evening, sweetheart. Could you not sleep?"

Sigyn shook her head, slightly ashamed, as she closed the parlor's door behind her and crossed to sit next to her mother on the cushions. The queen set aside her needle work so as to allow her daughter to curl into her side, wrapping a protective arm around the young woman. Queen Frigga had always wanted a daughter of her own, and after Freya passed away in childbirth, the queen cared for the baby Sigyn that was the daughter of two of her dearest friends. Frigga saw so much of Freya and Iwaldi in Sigyn, even when she was child, and at times it made her long for her deceased friends but then, it would gladden her that their legacies lived on in their daughter.

"What keeps you awake, then?" Frigga asked, soothingly rubbing her daughter's arm.

"I'm worried for Father and Thor and Theoric and…and everyone else," Sigyn replied closing her eyes, as if squashing the mental image of her loved ones being injured or slain at the hands of the Jotun.

"I know, dearest, I know," Frigga said, soothingly. She worried for the Emperor both when he was away from the capital and when he was there. She worried about his age or that his old battle wounds would finally catch up to him, that an assassin's knife would find his heart prematurely. But now, most of her worries were devoted to the thought of her husband being set upon by an ambush of Jotuns and slaughtered in the saddle of his warhorse before he could even draw his sword in defense.

After Balder and Sigyn managed to spill every detail in a panicked rush, Frigga had left her children to their anxiety and hurriedly delivered a message to her husband of their eldest son's escapades. The Emperor, naturally, was beyond angry—he was completely livid. Thor, the crown prince of Asgard, had deliberately disobeyed his orders. Odin wasted no time in calling for his destrier and a band of Crimson Hawks to ride with him to the northern borders, hopefully to apprehend the heir of Asgard from certain death at the hands of the Jotun.

That had been six days ago and with every passing hour; Sigyn became more and more anxious for everyone's safety.

"I dream of their deaths whenever I close my eyes," Sigyn admitted, shakily. "I dream of Theoric with a large gash in his chest, bleeding and dying at the feet of laughing, cruel faceless Jotun."

"You mustn't dwell on it, dearest," Frigga replied, soothingly. "Theoric is the mightiest warrior that rides with Thor. If they should run into a warlord, he will surely be able to defend himself as well as the others."

Sigyn nodded to this, mutely, obviously still plagued by the thought of her best friend being slain so mercilessly. She took in a shaky breath and asked, tentatively, "Mother? Balder says that the Jotuns paint blue streaks onto themselves for battles or hunting. Is that true? Are they really so different from us?"

Frigga considered this for a moment before saying, "I met a Jotun once, their king, Laufey, actually when I was a girl. There were, indeed, blue marks across his face and chest—the men don't wear tunics—but he wore a cloak with gray wolf pelt at the collar and the wool of the rest of it was richest green I have ever seen. In his hands was the king's spear, Gungnir, golden and fashioned like a stag's horns at the top. Besides his apparel, he was no different than us. His hair was black, his skin pale from the cold of the north."

"Why did you meet Laufey?" questioned Sigyn, looking intrigued. It wasn't very often that the queen told a story from her own childhood, usually Frigga told of fairytales or parables meant to teach her children a lesson. It was never an adventure of her own and Sigyn was completely enthralled.

"Well, he was still only a prince then," Frigga clarified, "And I was just older than you are, Sigyn. My father was a general stationed along the northern borders at one of the first outposts built. Laufey led a raid along with two more of his warlords against the fort when my father and a large amount of his men were out on a scouting mission. When the Jotuns were sighted, I was told to hide, but Laufey and his warriors soon overran us. I was found by Laufey himself, and when he saw me he said, 'Well, I can't kill you. It would be such a waste of beauty.'"

"He did?" Sigyn squeaked, surprised by this turn in the story.

Frigga nodded in confirmation. "My Father and his men soon returned and drove the Jotuns away from the fort. But, after that I have never really believed the Jotuns to be the savages that we Asgardians always call them. If they're anything like their king, anyway."

Sigyn couldn't help but giggle. "Because Laufey called you beautiful?"

Frigga grinned at her daughter, saying, "No silly, because he was merciful." The queen, laughing, then tickled her daughter like she did when Sigyn was still little enough to curl up in Frigga's lap.

"Stop, stop!" Sigyn cried around a gale of laughter as she struggled to fend off her mother. "I surrender!" Frigga sat back into her cushions once more, laughing at the rather affronted look Sigyn was giving her.

It took a moment for the princess to smooth her mass of red curls before she finally asked, "What I'd like to know is how you knew that was Laufey."

"Well, he was armed with Gungnir," Frigga replied. Every child in the nine great realms knew of the mythic Jotun spear, gold as the sun and deadly sharp. Only members of the royal Jotunheim family could wield the weapon, as anyone else's hand would be frozen upon touching it. Sigyn nodded to this. "And he was too young to be King Thrym, Laufey's father, so it was obvious to me that he was the prince."

"I wonder if he realized who you were," Sigyn said, speculating.

"Of course not, dear. I was a scared little girl with dirt caked on my face, how could he possibly know I was betrothed to the heir to Asgard's thron?" Frigga said, lightly. Sigyn didn't reply, only slightly shrugging. After that, the two fell into silence, the queen stroking her daughter's curls while Sigyn's breaths evened and sleep, a deep slumber not plagued by scenes of death, came over her.

* * *

Loki glared at the servant before him. "Repeat that message," the prince commanded, his voice cold and intimidating. He was in the palace's training yards, his cloak shed and leaving his torso bare and exposed to the cold air as sweat lightly coated his skin. In his hands was a blunted practice sword from demolishing every practice dummy and opponent that dare face him in his current mood.

The servant made a small, squeaking noise before stuttering out, "The K-king Lau-Laufey sends his orders for Your Highness, to leave the palace for a time and lead a hunting party. He thinks the fresh air will do his Highness some good."

Loki threw aside his practice sword, making the servant flinch slightly. Running a calloused hand through his hair, turning to retrieve his cloak from where it was flung over the sparring ring's fence, the prince thought rapidly. His father was obviously worried with him sulking around the royal palace, prone to flashes of temper or bouts of depression. He didn't much appreciate being ordered to go hunt and he worried his father might pass if where to leave the palace. Though, Laufey promised he'd call for Loki and the prince intended to hold his father to it.

"Send word to the gamekeeper to prepare for a hunt," Loki ordered, turning back to the servant. The servant hastily bowed to the prince and darted away, as fast as he could scurry. Loki watched him go briefly, and then snatched up the practice sword.

"I see you've abused another practice sword," an amused voice said, making Loki turn his head about in surprise, unaware he had company. "I'm sure whatever it said, it didn't mean it." Leaning along the fence was a young man, his hair dark brown loose about his face, grinning at his friend.

"Mim," greeted Loki, not paying much mind to the other boy's comment. "I thought you were to be in Gastropnir for another week?"

Mìmir, though referred to as Mim by most everyone that knew him, shrugged. "I came back early," he replied, simply.

"Just admit you missed me so terribly much that you couldn't possibly stay away any longer," Loki quipped, a smirk flicking onto his face. "Or that your mother is hounding you about finding a wife again."

"She's more like _harassing_ me," Mim replied, rolling his eyes. Menglad, Mim's mother, was the sole female warlord—technically lady—in Jotunheim since her husband died. She was a formidable woman with a fiery temper and certain expectations of her son, including finding a suitable woman to have heirs with that would fill the halls of Gastropnir.

Loki laughed at the expression on his friend's face. "Just be grateful she didn't have potential ladies lined up for your return like she did last time." Mim shivered in disgust at the memory. Loki had been riding with his friend to Gastropnir—he was traveling to attend the wedding of Karl and Kerling, both heirs to prominent Jotun merchant families, in a village just beyond Mim's home—and to both their embarrassment were met with a host of young, eligible maidens and Menglad, looking very pleased with herself. Of course, after the initial shock, Loki had found the whole situation terribly amusing while Mim was seriously considering the possibility of becoming invisible through sheer force of will.

"I think we should agree to never speak of that event ever again," Mim said, lowly, glancing over his friend.

Loki grinned back and said, changing the topic obligingly, "So, what say you, my friend, care to join me for a hunt?"

"Why else do you think I'm walking with you to the stables? The company?" Mim scoffed as the two young men entered through a side door of the stable building that housed the royalty and nobility's mounts.

Ignoring him, Loki made quick business of finding and saddling Gyllir—a task he had long since made clear to the stable hands that he was capable of—leading the snorting black stallion out into the stable yard. It seemed either Laufey had anticipated his son's agreement or the servant was an astoundingly efficient messenger, as the palace's gamekeeper, huntsmen, and weapons bearers were already assembled, either mounting their horses or already situated in the saddle.

Smirking at this, Loki swung effortlessly up onto Gyllir's back, waving the gamekeeper over after he had gathered the reins in his hands. "Are we ready for the hunt?" Loki asked of the man.

He nodded, replying, "Indeed, Your Highness. All you need to do is select your spear for the hunt and then we can ride at Your Highness' leisure." Loki dismissed the gamekeeper, giving him a brief nod of thanks, as a weapons bearer scrambled over and offered the spears in his hands to the prince.

"Give me a crossbow, would you? My spear-throwing arm has gone flabby," Mim said as he trotted up on his roan gelding, waving a lazy hand at the weapons bearer as he approached. Loki grinned at Mim as he selected his usual spear—a lead core mahogany one with an iron tip—and then clucked at Gyllir to ride for the north gate, the nearest one to the stable yard.

He did not wait for any of the hunting party, not even Mim. _Especially_ not Mim. As good of a friend he was, he couldn't keep quiet when stalking a deer to save his life. Loki rolled his eyes at the thought and urged Gyllir off the road that lead away from the north gate, instead going into the forest along a well worn hunting path that would take him around the palace's walls, more near the south gate, and into the forest.

Utgard was situated right into the base of the Jotun Mountains, the north gate and its road leading up a steep incline into the mountain passes. It was a scenic ride, but hardly good for hunting. The dark forest which marched right up to the palace's southeast walls, were stocked with deer, squirrel, and rabbit which provided Loki many afternoons of sport. Usually, he preferred his study of magic to the outdoors, though he made an exception when it came to hunting.

Gyllir moved soundlessly along the narrow path that wove through sparse woodlands, quickly moving south and into the thick of the forest. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the green of the trees, warm against his bare chest and face. Loki couldn't help but close his eyes for a moment and enjoy the sun, allowing his horse to wander as it would. It wasn't very often that there were warm days in Jotunheim, even in the peak of summer as it was, so whenever a Jotun found themselves in a burst of sunlight, they tended to savor it. The prince's green eyes flicked open once more.

Loki's hold on his horse's reins was loose, allowing Gyllir to amble along through the forest, as his keen eyes examined the foliage about them and the game that lived within it. He was a far ways away from the hunting party, not even their loud trampling through the woods could be heard, and he was grateful for it. It would completely ruin what solitude he found in hunting.

Gyllir continued through the woods, moving silently under the green canopy as Loki kept close watch on the trees around them. A brief flash of brown and Loki stilled Gyllir, holding his breath and readying his spear. The prince's keen green eyes scanned the forest. Nothing. The barest of nudges forward and leaning in the saddle, Loki peered as subtly as possible around the trees as possible.

There! A stag grazing in a small clearing. It was a handsome beast with an impressive mantel of antlers atop its head and a thick, soft pelt that would—undoubtedly—make an equally handsome cloak.

A smile flicked onto Loki's face as he readied his spear. Carefully taking aim, the prince held his breath, not wanting to risk the chance of any of his slightest noises spooking the stag. Just as he drew his arm back his arm a thrush darted through the clearing, peeping loudly as it flew by. The sudden movement startled the stag, making it skid away from the bird and spring from the clearing.

Growling in annoyance, low and under his breath, Loki clicked hurriedly to Gyllir, the stallion immediately springing forward in pursuit of the stag. The prince urged his horse onward, with the flick of the reins, nudge at the sides, and shouts, all while keeping a steady aim on the beast with his spear. He just needed to be a _bit_ closer then he'd be able to cleanly hit the animal—and that was in the first hour of the hunt _without_ any other members of the hunting party around to get under foot.

The stag suddenly darted off the right and before the prince had anytime to realize it, Gyllir burst through a thicket of foliage and onto the main road that led to the south gate of Utgard. Loki drew Gyllir hurriedly to a stop, doing his best to turn his mount around and continue their pursuit of the stag, but then something more threatening than a stag caught his attention and he froze.

Six riders gathered together and apparently examining a map amongst themselves, blinked at Loki in shock and surprise while the prince mirrored much their same expressions. What caught his attention even more so than six people on horseback trying awkwardly to crowd around one piece of parchment was the alarming fact that each of them were wearing Asgardian armor and armed to the teeth with weapons of every variety.

A large warrior, his blond hair so long that it showed from underneath a winged helmet, was the first to make any sort of movement, and that was to let out a war cry and launch his spear directly at Loki's chest. It was only years of training in the sparing yards that saved Loki's life as he leaned back in his saddle, the spearhead missing his chest by mere centimeters as it sailed by.

"You'll regret your actions, Asgardian," Loki threatened, his voice low and dangerous. He wheeled Gyllir to face the six warriors, the stallion shrieking a challenge to the other horses, letting out a battle cry that equaled the ones his foes shouted. Gyllir sprang forward, charging the nearest Asgardian, a Crimson Hawk—by the red of his tunic and gold of his armor—the spear aimed for the warrior's chest.

Loki's spear was met with a sword that easily deflected the more cumbersome weapon. The prince managed to maintain his hold in his spear and steer Gyllir out of reach of the Hawk's second sword swipe. At this point, the other Asgardians had set upon him, charging past the Crimson Hawk warrior with their own weapons. Loki easily dodged, the task almost trivial, sliding out a hunting knife from his boot—he always knew it would come into use—and slicing the girth strap of a rider's saddle—he _thought_ the warrior was a woman, but he wasn't entirely sure—as she passed.

Returning his attention to the Crimson Hawk as the other warriors wheeled their mounts around for another pass at Loki—the prince was beginning to wonder why he suddenly found himself so completely outnumbered—he hurriedly brought his knife up in defense of an incoming sword strike. The blades met with a clang.

It was an odd experience, having such a small blade as a knife to defend one's life with in the face of a deadly sharp broadsword just inches from one's neck, and Loki decided he didn't entirely enjoy it. The Crimson Hawk only had a moment's comprehension of the glint in the prince's mischievous eyes before the hunting spear was driven deep and fast into his chest, piercing the armor straight through.

"Theoric!" called the blond warrior that had launched his spear first at Loki, initiating the fighting. Theoric, as Loki assumed was the Crimson Hawk's name, had a look of complete shock written across his face. His eyes were widened by the pain and his arms fell limp at his sides. When his mount underneath him bolted, frightened from battle, the warrior fell from the saddle, onto his side, driving the spear to further embed itself in him.

But Loki was distracted from the fallen warrior as battle cries rang from both the forest and the road to the south. From the woodlands charged the hunting party, Mim at its head with his crossbow aimed and sending bolts flying as he galloped out onto the road which was quickly becoming a battle ground. From farther along the road galloped a band of Asgardian warriors, a man in golden armor at its front.

Loki took hold of his spear, pulling it from the warrior's chest—calling a hurried apology to him—before Gyllir was galloping to meet the Jotun forces and ride against the Asgardian reinforcements. He wasn't entirely sure how these warriors were so far north of the border, all the prince knew was that they were _there_ so he would fight against them.

* * *

"Father!" Thor shouted at the sight of the Asgardian warriors quickly approaching.

"Thor!" called Sif, having fallen from her horse and was now crouched in the dust of the road, pulling the Asgardian prince's attention away from the Emperor. "Thor! It's Theoric! He's dying!"

Thor hurried over to the fallen warrior's side, Sif hurriedly moving aside for the prince and fending off any attackers that dared draw near. "Thor?" coughed Theoric, his blurry eyes focusing on the blond prince, the Crimson Hawk barely managing to croak out words around blood.

"Yes, it is me, my friend," Thor affirmed, "You must hold on. We will get you to a healer and you shall be well."

"No," Theoric replied, smiling at the lie but not wanting to waste his last few breaths with hearing it. "I am dying and am beyond help. I have died as best as a warrior can, with honor in battle and for a princess."

"Theoric, no, Sigyn never would have wanted this—" Thor began, there being only one princess that Theoric would be mentioning.

"It's what…what I wanted…though," Theoric interrupted, his voice weak and haggard. He fought for every word he spoke, more blood being the cost of each one. "I wanted to…impress her because…I…love…"

Thor watched in horror as Theoric, a Crimson Hawk of the highest ability and order, went still before him, bled to death in such a shameful place as in the middle of a dusty road. But then the Emperor's company of warriors had surrounded Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three.

They managed drag Thor away from Theoric's corpse, getting him atop a horse to ride hard and fast away from the pursuing Jotuns. He was numb. He was in shock. Never before had he lost a friend to battle. Never because of one of his plans. He felt cold all over. He was barely aware of his father yelling at him for being reckless, he was barely aware of Volstagg prodding him to eat, Fandral pestering him to sleep, Sif begging him to speak, or Hogun's silent pleading for him to look his friends in the eyes.

Theoric had died because of him, in the middle of a Jotunheim road. They hadn't recovered his body to give him an honorable warrior's funeral. His body would probably be left to rot or buried carelessly in an unmarked grave.

And all because he wanted to impress Sigyn; because he loved her.

* * *

**A/N: **Alas, poor Theoric, I knew him well. Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! What did you think of this chapter and of not only our dear Theoric but also the addition of Loki's bff Mim? Leave a review with a comment, thought, or what-have-you!


	4. Consequence

**Warnings: **Sadness...

**A/N: **Hmm. I believe we're on chapter four already!

* * *

**Chapter Four—Consequence**

* * *

Sigyn watched with wide, fearful eyes from her place next to her mother in throne room. All of court was present, standing in their ceremonial places with all eyes turned to the warrior that stood before the Emperor atop his golden throne. Sigyn could hardly believe she had stood before her father a mere fifteen days before, giving her opinion on the matter now at hand.

Thor looked up at his father, his face fresh with battle scars, his tunic tattered and dirtied, and his armor looking dull in comparison to the rest of the throne room and its occupants. Sigyn had never seen her brother look like that, his eyes, once a cheerful blue, now seemed dull and lifeless. His shoulders were hunched, his head down cast, the prince only barely meeting his father's eyes. Thor looked completely and utterly defeated, like any judgment passed by the Emperor was nothing compared to the price he had already paid.

Odin had refused to tell anyone, even Queen Frigga or the other two royal children, of what had occurred in Jotunheim. Instead, he had insisted on calling court—full court—in the throne room to describe the events that had transpired. Sigyn knew that this could only mean that the situation was dire and her worry only increased with the sight of her brother.

"People of Asgard, today I bring you grave news," the Emperor began. "Ten days past, there was a report received that the King Laufey was dying of age. In response to this report, my son, Prince Thor, thought it would be the opportune time to ride to Jotunheim and seize it for Asgard, thinking it would end the conflict indefinitely. But, this would only lead to further bloodshed as the Jotuns would seek revenge and I forbid him to act upon his plan."

There was a pause as Odin's voice echoed through the throne room. Not a person made the tiniest of sounds, all listening intently.

The Emperor continued, "The crown prince deliberately disobeyed my orders. He rode north, past the borders of Jotunheim, as far as to come within sight of Utgard. He attacked a Jotun hunter in the forest that slew the Crimson Hawk, Theoric, in defense."

Sigyn gasped. Her hands flew up, covering her mouth in horror. Thor's eyes fell upon her, filled with remorse. His blue eyes gazed upon her sadly, his guilt weighing even more down upon him at the sight of her. He lowered his gaze as Sigyn's eyes silently welled with tears. The princess' shoulders silently shaking. The queen wrapped a protective arm about her daughter.

"It was only my arrival to the battle that prevented further bloodshed," the Emperor finished recounting the events before saying, "But, for his rash actions in not only defying the Emperor's orders but also needlessly throwing away the life of a fellow warrior, the Prince Thor shall be justly punished for his actions. Henceforth, Thor is stripped of all titles; he is no longer heir apparent to the throne of Asgard, the title being passed to the next eligible in line, Prince Balder. He shall lose all claim of nobility and be demoted, serving in the legions of Asgard to reconcile the loose of a warrior by serving as one."

A great hush fell over the room, everyone's eyes upon the eldest son of Odin, but his face was turned to the ground, as if taking the sentence as a physical blow. As if it struck him down. Thor did not protest; he did not meet anyone's gaze. This was not the Thor any of the Asgardians had grown to know and love. He was utterly defeated.

Sigyn turned away and silently exited the throne room through the hidden passage her and Balder had taken before, wanting to have at least the privilege to weep in solitude.

* * *

"Loki?" Laufey called weakly, as loud as he could manage, struggling to sit up in his bed as his son entered. The prince frowned at this; his father was much weaker than when he had last seen him. The king's breathing was now punctured with a hacking cough much more frequent then before, his pale skin graying, and so weak that propping himself up was exhausting.

"Yes, Father, it is I," replied Loki, dutifully, hurrying to his father's side and taking his frail hands in his own.

"Loki," Laufey said around a cough. "You have come right on time without me needing to send for you." The prince didn't need any explanation on what his father meant, his face hardening at these words. "Before I got to Helheim's gates, you must promise me, Loki, you will work for peace."

"Father, the Asgardians invaded our lands, coming so near to Utgard as to attack me," Loki replied, his shock clear in his voice.

"No, Loki," Laufey said, shaking his head weakly, "Those were the actions of but a few. Do not let a small group speak for a nation. Send the treaty and pray for peace."

Loki's facial expression briefly reflected his thoughts, before smoothing out into its calm mask. How could his father urge him for peace? He was directly assaulted, nearly impaled by an Asgardian spear. _Him,_ the heir to the Jotunheim throne. This was an act of war, a small group of warriors or not.

The prince's expression did not go unnoticed by the king. Laufey tightly gripped his son's hands in a sudden burst of energy, insisting in a stronger voice than Loki had heard his father speak with for the past week, "_Promise me._"

"Yes," Loki replied, swallowing slightly and nodding hastily. "Yes, of course, Father. I promise."

"Good, good," Laufey nodded, settling back onto his pillows, his grip loosening as his voice returned to its faint whisper. Loki blinked at his father, Laufey's eyes drooping closed as his breathes evened out. The prince began to withdraw his hand from his father's, assuming the man had fallen into slumber. It was not unusual for Laufey; he would often finish what words he meant to say to his son, before becoming exhausted from the effort and sleeping soundly for a time.

But then, the prince's keen green eyes widened. The king's chest wasn't rising and falling, his faint breathing had stopped altogether. "Father?" Loki croaked, his throat suddenly tight as he took hold of his father's hands once more. There was no muscle movement, no pulse. The warmth in his father's hands was beginning to drain.

"Father!" the prince shouted, unaware of the tears that slide from his eyes. "No, Father, please! You can't die! Please, don't leave me all alone." Loki shook his father's shoulder in desperation, to no avail. His father's death, an imminent reality that he had been trying to avoid, trying to deny, set in upon him. He had avoided thinking of the sadness, of the loose with worrying of the coronation trials, of the peace treaty. But now, it was completely unavoidable.

He slumped forward, his forehead resting at his father's side. He allowed his tears to be soaked into the wolf pelts that surrounded his father. He allowed his shoulder's to shake and his throat to become raw from sobbing.

And then he stood up and turned from his father's corpse. To compose himself; to set his face in a smooth mask and leave the king's chamber. Calmly he told the guards of Laufey's passing. He walked out of that room as the next king. He could not afford to be seen as weak, especially when his people were the fearless warriors that Jotuns were. He could not afford emotions. He was now a cold, powerful king. He would be the king that his father wanted, he would make Laufey proud.

* * *

A quiet knock echoed through Sigyn's chambers, making her glance up with wide blue eyes in surprise. She was currently sitting in the midst of a mound of pillows and blankets on her bed pallet, a cushion being hugged to her chest. Her red hair was in a mess of curls around her face, she had long since taken notice of what all her sobbing had done to her appearance. Though that had been a few hours ago, when she sobbed until her eyes ran dry and her whole face was red, and now she was left to hiccup every so often in between sniffles.

"Enter," she called weakly, her eyes fixed on the archway that led from her chambers. There was a pause before Balder peered warily in, a weak smile on his face. It was obvious he had been crying too, maybe not as hard or long as his elder sister, but his nose had been rubbed pink and his blue eyes were rimmed with red.

Theoric had been as dear a friend to Balder as he was to Sigyn. Theoric was the one who encouraged the youngest prince to not give up swordplay when it frustrated him—as if often did—and would spend evenings tutoring the prince in the art of the sword, helping Balder to become a talented swordsman, despite still preferring his books.

"Hey, Sigyn," he greeted, softly. She half-hearted attempted to smile in return but it only made her look even more miserable. "Mind if I join you?" Sigyn shook her head and patted the pillows and blankets beside her on the pallet. Kicking off his sandals, Balder crossed over and curled up at his sister's side.

"He would have laughed at us, crying over him like this," Sigyn finally croaked, settling an arm about her little brother. Balder mutely nodded. "He always was laughing at everything, even when things were so serious. He was always trying to cheer me."

"He was patience with my swordplay and always offered a smile," Balder muttered. The two siblings fell silent. Then, another knock was heard through the chamber, making Sigyn glance down at her brother in question, who simply shrugged in response.

"Enter," she called out. Immediately, a solider stepped into the room, his tunic a vivid red, his armor polished, and his javelin freshly sharpened; his overall appearance was new in comparison to a soldier's usual worn image. Sigyn opened her mouth to demand a reason for a legionnaire, usually stationed at the palace's walls, around the city, or on the borders of Asgard protecting the realm—but never within the palace where the Crimson Hawks acted as protection—was in her room. And then, the legionnaire removed his helmet and a gasp escaped Sigyn's throat without her even realizing it.

Without his helmet that covered much of his handsome face, it was plain to recognize who the legionnaire was. His golden hair, a mark of his high birth and privilege, had been cut, leaving him with the hair of a common foot soldier. "Thor," Sigyn said softly, quickly standing from her pallet and going to her brother, Balder at her elbow. "What have they done to you?"

"Your Highnesses," Thor replied, bowing to his royal siblings. "I came to give you word that I have been stationed within the city to serve Asgard as a defender of Idavoll. I am but a lowly legionnaire to Your Highnesses and I offer my undying service to you."

"Thor, you are our brother, you don't have to speak with us this way," Sigyn said, placing a hand upon her brother's shoulder, making his blue eyes meet hers. They were still hollow, still guilt-ridden. Sigyn knew Thor blamed himself for Theoric's death, she had realized this not long after exiting the throne room, and she knew it wasn't his fault at all. If anyone, it was hers.

"With all due respect, Your Highness, it is how one of my standing _must_ addressee a royal princess and prince," Thor replied, his voice holding none its former cheerful, eager quality that reflected his personality. Sigyn frowned at this but her elder brother continued. "There actually is another matter I came to bring your attention, Your Highnesses. I felt that you should be told, in respect to our late friend Theoric. In his dying breaths, Theoric revealed his true motivation in journeying to Jotunheim, and that was to impress Your Highness." Thor bowed respectfully to Sigyn in indication of who he meant. "He said that he loved you."

Sigyn blinked at Thor in shock before lowering her eyes to the smooth stone floor of her chambers, completely lost for words. Her throat tightened again and she could feel the tears forming and wanting to be shed. Before she could stop herself, she had thrown her arms around Thor, needing the big, warm bear hugs he gave that comforted her so. She didn't want to lose the happy, cheerful Thor she knew to the serious legionnaire he was making himself become to please their father, especially when she needed his comfort.

Thor stood rigidly still, not knowing his place. But then, Balder joined in the hug and Thor couldn't resist pulling his little siblings against his chest and giving the big brother hugs he was famous for. None of the siblings knew of what was going to happen; Sigyn didn't know how she would cope with the guilt of Theoric's unrequited love for her and it leading to his death, Balder didn't know how he was to handle the sudden role of crown prince thrust upon him, a title he neither expected nor wanted, and Thor didn't know how he could shed the life of privilege he had known and fit into the ranks of the legionnaires.

But, for now, they allowed themselves to share in each others' sorrow, guilt, and comfort. Those other worries could wait.

* * *

**A/N: **I _am_ sorry for the absurd amount of crying in this chapter. Beyond that, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment, thought, or what-have-you!


	5. The First Trial

**Warning: **Violence

**A/N: **This is a slightly shorter chapter then usual, but at least its full of action!

* * *

**Chapter Five—The First Trial**

* * *

The gray stone halls of Utgard's throne room, usually barely illuminated by torches, were emblazed with emerald green and shining gold tapestries of Jotunheim, each banner bearing the sigil of the proud country, a stag. At the helm of the hall was the Jotun throne, the Ice Throne that was carved from the permanently frozen ice from the summits of the Jotun Mountains, mounted on the dais. Upon the throne was Laufey's crown, made from iron and ice, as ruthless as the king's rule had been. Each Jotun king had a crown fashioned specifically for them, a symbol of their reign.

The hall was crowded with warlords, all of which had received the news only the evening before and had journeyed with all speed to Utgard, most riding through the night and day, arriving only moments before.

Each lord, all freshly painted with Markings, held their preferred weapon in hand—for both ceremony and in prospect of their selection to the Arena that evening—and had cloaks baring their house color draped over their bare shoulders and backs. All eyes were focused upon a large, muscular man that stood just off to the right of the Ice Throne, a step up the dais—as close as anyone that wasn't royalty dared to go to the throne—as he surveyed the room with keen eyes.

This was Thiazi, the eldest and most powerful warlord of Jotunheim from the mountain stronghold of Thrymheim. He rarely journeyed to Utgard, as he had the near equal power of the king. Should Thiazi wish it, he could sway every warlord's opinion to his own with a few simple words—most likely threats he would make good on—and if a king earned the loyalty of Thiazi, then they would easily win the loyalty of the other twenty-eight warlords.

As the eldest warlord, Thiazi was the main voice of the lords and thus conducted both ceremonies of the descent of Laufey and ascent of Loki to the Ice Throne. Tonight's ceremonies would be the most important one for the next twenty-nine days. It would be the only time the ceremony would be held before a single combat match, as it was the commencement of the coronation trials, and it was also when Laufey was officially declared king no longer.

"Lords of Jotunheim," Thiazi announced to the hall, his booming voice easily silencing the murmuring of the warlords. Thiazi nodded respectfully to Menglad, who stood with her famous spear, acknowledging her as a lady, before continuing, "A both grievous and joyous day is upon us. For today, we must relinquish our king to the realm of Helheim, but, we also begin the trials of the heir to judge his worth as the successor to our late king. Now, let the heir present himself to the lords of Jotunheim and do his father the honor of descending the Jotun throne."

At these words, the warlords shifted their gaze from Thiazi and the Ice Throne and to the great archway of hall, the lone figure of Loki entering at a dignified pace. As was customary for Jotunheim men, his chest was bare and freshly painted with Markings. At his throat was golden hastening that fixed the great emerald cloak, trimmed with gray wolf pelt that was a symbol of his membership to the Utgard house. His brown breeches and boots were that of a fighter's while his hand held the golden spear of Gungnir. The crowd allowed an aisle for him as he proceeded to stand before Thiazi.

"Loki, son of Laufey, heir to the Jotun throne, proud descendant of the house of Utgard and protector of the north," Thiazi addressed Loki, using the prince's full title. "Do you accept the honor of your father's descent from the throne and thus agree to try for the title of king in his stead?"

"Yes, Lord Thiazi of Thrymheim, I accept," Loki replied, as was custom.

"Then wear your father's crown atop your head as a symbol of accepting his throne, and know that, should you let it fall during the trials of the coronation, you shall loose all claim to the throne, dishonor your family, and be swiftly executed by your opponent," Thiazi said. Loki ascended the steps of the dais, taking the iron crown from where it sat in the Ice Throne's center, before returning to bow before Thiazi, upon one knee with his face to the ground.

"I humbly come before you, asking to ascend the throne of Jotunheim," Loki said, saying the traditional request. Every evening, there would be a ceremony similar to this, usually held in the Arena in the yards of Utgard, where Loki would kneel before Thiazi and he would say this request.

Thiazi regarded the prince, saying, "You are not yet ready." This would be the lord's reply until the twenty-ninth match had been won. Next he asked the warlords, "Who shall take up arms against the prince tonight, testing his skill?"

"I, Menglad of the house, Gastropnir, shall test the prince's skill this night," was the immediate response. If Loki was surprised by his best friend's mother, the only female warlord and a fearsome warrior, being the first to volunteer to duel him, he did not show it; his face remaining smooth and his green eyes as cold as ever.

"I accept the Lady Menglad's test," Loki immediately responded. On cue, all the warlords moved to exit the hall.

Loki was last to leave the hall, as was order, though soon Mim fell into step beside him. The prince glanced over at his friend, Mim' face grim, and he couldn't help but grin if only just a little bit. "Well, this is slightly awkward, wouldn't you agree?" Loki asked, nonchalantly, as the two friends walked side by side.

This seemed to set off Mim, as he hurriedly advised, "Loki, you have to fight her with a sword; her spear work is quick, is meant for long distance, and cannot be matched with another spear or javelin—sword is your only option. She is better at offense, so cut in quickly and close with the blade and start testing her blocking, looking for openings. Also she—"

"Slow down, Mim, take a deep breath," Loki said, laughing at his friend's flustered expression. "Is it really wise for you to be giving me advice on defeating your own mother? People might begin to think you aren't a loyal son."

Ignoring the prince's observation, Mim narrowed his eyes at his friend. "_How_ is it that you're so calm?"

"Mim, in comparison to yourself, _anyone_ would appear calm at the current moment," Loki replied, his lips twitching into a sly smirk.

"You may be killed in there by my own mother!" Mim replied, stoutly and refusing to rise to his friend's teasing insult.

"I appreciate your faith in my abilities," Loki said before adding, "But, I knew that Menglad would be my first trial, and I have a plan in mind." Mim frowned, wanting to ask how the prince could possibly have known that his mother would be his first combatant, but then the prince raised Gungnir before him, casting a hand along its length and mumbling an incantation under his breath as he did.

The gold spear shrunk in size, its antler-shaped head shrinking to the tip of sword while the rest of it flattened out with sharp edges, the golden gleam being replaced by a metallic silver one. A hilt formed where Loki grasped Gungnir, wrapped in emerald leather while the rest was gold. Mim blinked in amazement; where once there had been the golden spear Gungnir, the weapon of the royalty of Jotunheim, there was a broadsword that gleamed in the evening sun.

"Shall we?" Loki asked of Mim, looking pleased with himself at his successful transfiguration, before leading the way from the main citadel of Utgard and out along the west grounds to the Arena. The Arena was much like the sparing rings; it being a flat dirt space that was for fighting. The only difference was that this ring was the center of rows of sitting. Normally, the Arena was the hub of betting and gambling on gladiator matches and even now, spectators to the event, beside the warlords, were already calling out bets and wagering money.

The two friends stayed together as far as the outside of the wooden stadium, where Mim had to follow with the rest of the crowd to enter into the audience seating and Loki proceeded to the combatants' tunnel—a darkened corridor that lead directly out onto the arena's floor. "I will see you after at the feast," Loki said, nodding to Mim.

Mim shook his head and frowned slightly, saying sincerely, "I just hope your confidence is founded." And then he turned and went to find a suitable position to watch the match from. Not letting this bother him, the prince ventured around the circular outskirts of the stands, coming to the combatant's tunnel. The guards stationed there easily waved him through and he proceeded into the dark of the tunnel.

The smell of blood met his nostrils while the only thing he could see was the bare outlines of the arena entrance before him, steadily growing larger as he walked. The combatant's tunnel branched off into a network of prison cells that held the fighters that normally participated in the matches—it was Jotunheim's form of execution. Prisoners of war, typically Asgardian, would be forced to fight for their lives against others—sometimes bandits, murderers, or other war prisoners—to not only stay alive but earn their freedom. It was an ancient form of justice that Jotunheim abided by and it had kept order for hundreds of years. It also generated entertainment and money from all the spectators that flocked to the matches to wager and gamble upon the outcomes.

Loki was unfazed by both the stench and the darkness, striding forward, remaining determined. The walk through the tunnel seemed to be shorter than he would have expected and when he stepped into the light of the Arena, his ears were met with the deafening roar of the crowd. Blinking at the sudden light, Loki took in his surroundings. The Arena's seating was cramped with all the warlords and other Jotuns that had come to witness the first trial in their prince's coronation process.

Calls erupted towards the prince, maidens throwing tokens of affection to him while the men yelled both insults and words of encouragement to him. Ignoring them all, Loki preceded further into the Arena's center, turning to gaze at the way he came—or rather the place of honor, a box perched above the entrance to the combatant's tunnel. Already seated there, acting as official moderator of the match, was Thiazi, gazing down at the young prince solemnly. Loki inclined his head to the warlord.

Thiazi rose from his chair, saying, "People of Jotunheim, I, Lord Thiazi of Thrymheim, now introduce Prince Loki, son of Laufey, to face the lady of Gastropnir, Menglad, in a single combat contest to prove his worth as Jotunheim's king." The crowd roared their approval to this statement and Loki turned away from Thiazi to look where he knew Menglad would be. Upon her official announcement as a combatant, she had easily jumped over the wall that separated the Arena's match ring from the seating, her spear still in hand. She was dressed as was customary for Jotun women, no skin but her face showing, though she did wear a warrior's tight breeches meant for agile movement. In any other circumstance, Loki would have viewed this as an advantage, but he knew of Menglad's skill in combat and it would be a grave mistake to underestimate her.

"Prince Loki," Thiazi said after the crowd had quieted enough so all could hear the warlord. "Your first trial may now commence."

There was a moment of complete silence as Menglad and Loki's eyes locked, green to brown. Both judging each other's strengths and—more importantly—their weaknesses. The crowd seemed to hold their breath, leaning forward in anticipation for the battle that was about to ensue, and then Menglad let out a war cry and charged the prince, the crowd cheering in response.

All the prince did was grin in delight. He waited for her to run to him, only raising his sword in challenge, taunting her to try to hit him. Before her spear reached him, he dove forward, slapping the dusty, packed earth as he dodged underneath her weapon and her, easily rolling to avoid her attack. She had foreseen the dodge and swung her spear around, the heavy rod of it nearly slamming into his head as he collected himself but then his blade met hers with a resonating metallic clash.

He smirked and easily threw her spear away from the lock it was in with his blade before taking advantage of the moment her weapon had swung wide—leaving her torso open for attack. He sprung forward, swiping his blade into a right slash. Her spear blurred and he grinned, delighted despite himself when she intercepted his hit, her spear now held like a staff with two hands—easier for defense. Here was an exceptionally good fighter; it had been years since Loki had an opponent that could block one of his blows, with such a cumbersome, in his opinion, weapon as a spear.

He did not test her strength in the block—if it came to a pure contest of might, he would surely lose—he swung his blade about for a lower swipe, which was met with the resounding thud of a sword being blocked by a spear. A shoulder cut. Blocked. A knee shot. Blocked. Another right slash. Blocked. Left slash. Blocked. Lower left upwards cut. Blocked. The sound of blocks became a rhythm; both testing each other's speed. With every attack of Loki's he was met with an equally fast defense. Mim had said she wasn't strong on the defensive, but apparently she had been practicing.

They continued their test of speed but then, just as Loki moved for an upper right downwards cut, the butt of Menglad's spear shot out, aiming for a ribcage hit on Loki. The prince barely had enough time to dance out of the way in the few moments he had to register the attack before it met its mark. And then, a thrust with the spearhead at his chest from Menglad and he was on the defense.

Instead of attempting to block with his sword—a fruitless task when the spear added such extra length to his opponent's reach—he put his years of agility practice in swordplay, when he was still too weak to contest with his larger foes' strength, into practice. A side step, a duck, a dance away, and a quick jump. To the crowd, the two combatants were locked in a deadly dance, Loki clearly the lither of the two. The prince's mouth held the curve of an amused grin, like he was allowing for every strike to occur and he was almost lazily dodging them.

Becoming frustrated from the inefficiency of her attacks, Menglad made a low growl of irritation in her throat before she swung her spear all the way around her, a lightning fast jab at the prince that he only barely managed to deflect from cutting him deeply across his exposed chest. Though the impact of the spear being so abruptly stopped by his blade sent Loki's bones ringing, he did not spare a moment to consider this as he knew Menglad's hold on her weapon was loose after such a forceful blow and he moved to act rapidly.

He twisted his blade about the spear, leveraging it from her grip and popping it above them into the air. Loki moved fast to catch the descending spear in his free hand, springing forward with both tips of the weapons poised to strike Menglad's throat. The crowd gasped, silent in shock at the quickness of Loki disarming Menglad.

"I yield," she said, a somewhat broad smile coming across her face.

Loki relaxed away from her, offering her spear back. The crowd around them roared, some shouting their complaints at the outcome of the match—and their lose of fortune—while others applauded the excellent fight and grinned hopefully to one another, hopeful for this would-be king.

Under the cover of the crowd's din, Menglad said, "An excellent fight, my prince. I must apologize though. I have always thought you to be a weak combatant and disapproved of my son's companionship with you, but you have showed me your true skills and for that false assumption, I am sorry."

"Thank you, my lady Menglad," Loki replied, nodding to her in true gratitude. Menglad was neither so easily impressed nor quick to admit herself to be wrong; any compliment from her was genuine and should be taken with the highest regards.

At this point, the crowd had quieted—if only slightly—and Loki knew this to be his cue for the official words to be spoken after his trial. Turning to face Thiazi once more, the warlord looking impressed despite himself, Loki kneeled and bowed his head, saying, "I humbly come before you, asking to ascend the throne of Jotunheim."

Thiazi regarded Loki for a moment and replied, "You are not yet ready." He then turned to the crowd, to the section of the Arena's seating traditionally for the warlords during coronation trials, asking them, "Who shall take up arms against the prince tomorrow's night, testing his skill?" And so, the trials continued.

* * *

**A/N: **Let it be known that fight scenes are a pain. Well, anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave a comment, question, thought, or what-have-you about Loki's first trial, Mim's freak-out, Gungnir's transformation or anything else!


	6. Arrivals

**Warning: **Violence

**A/N: **Before this chapter, I wanted to take a moment and thank everyone that's been reading, adding this story to favorites and alerts, and reviewing! You all are wonderful, amazing people and I really love to know how you are liking the story, your thoughts on characters, and everything else! Just...thank you so much! Now, onto the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Six—Arrivals**

* * *

Thor had been awakened just as the barest rays of the sun's light illuminated in the cramped, spare servant's room he had been given for the evening, to have a pack handed to him with an extra change of clothes, a practice tunic, and a small purse of coins. He was given directions to the century post he was to be stationed at and then promptly shoved out the palace kitchen's backdoor to go on his way, being treated no better than the legionnaire he was demoted to.

Idavoll was quiet as he walked through the cobblestone paved streets, the inhabitants of the city just beginning to stir from their sleep, stretching and getting ready for the day. He took the moment to look about him at his people that he would have ruled over and couldn't help marveling at the fact that he not only so freely walked through the city but also that he had never done so before.

Despite living in Idavoll most of his life, he rarely ventured from the royal palace and into the city for a reason other than to attend a festival or riding through it to continue onto some glorious quest he had and his companions were journeying on. The thought made him blink in shock as he continued along before turning his attention back to the directions he had been given.

He was to continue along the main thoroughfare until he came to the spice markets along the northern walls and then turn left and continue along the path that was in the shadows of the city walls. Not long after he had exited the spice markets and entered the merchant quarters, he would come upon the Aesir century post.

The Asgardian legions—the standing army that protected the borders, countryside, and capital of Asgard—was divided into cohorts, which were usually stationed in different regions. The Fifth Cohort, the one primarily stationed in Idavoll, consisted of twenty centuries, companies of one hundred men that were quartered in posts around the city. Aesir century, the seventh century of the city, was the one Thor had been assigned to.

The exterior of the Aesir post was a smooth wall covered in climbing ivy with an archway at its center. Glancing warily at it for a moment, Thor took a breath before walking through the entrance and into a courtyard. At its center was a well under an apple tree and to the left was the dining hall and armory, the right was the two story barracks, and straight ahead of him appeared to be the training grounds.

Before Thor had much more time to observe his new home he caught sight of a curly brown haired legionnaire striding towards him. The warrior was dressed similarly to Thor, with a red tunic and brown, leather armor. "Thor Odinson, sir, reporting to Aesir century for service."

The man blinked his dark brown eyes at Thor, an eyebrow raised in slight confusion. "At ease, soldier. I am not the commanding officer; I'm just a centurion like you." Thor slightly relaxed, though not entirely as he knew the ways of the military and knew it was customary to be ready at a moment's notice. Even though he trained his facial expression into a mask of ease, Thor was shocked at the lack of reaction from the centurion when he had said his name. Surely he knew that Thor was the name of the dishonored prince and that he was, in fact, _the_ prince. But, there had been no such shock or contempt that Thor had been expecting. In all truthfulness, Thor was glad for it. He would rather no one knew of his heritage and his failures.

The centurion smiled in amusement at Thor's formality, saying, "I'm Hod of the Alfheim colonies. Welcome to Aesir century."

Due to Asgard's expansions in all directions, other realms found themselves with Asgardian colonies where Asgard had invaded the land to further its realm. The Alfheim colonies were one of the more prosperous ones, with affluent trading ports. Hod looked to be more Alfheimen then Asgardian, though, with dark brown curls, matching eyes, and slightly darkened skin.

Thor nodded back, saying, "Greetings to you."

Hod's face held a friendly smile but before he had much of a chance to reply, he straightened into attention and Thor hurriedly followed suit. It took a moment to realize the reason for this, but soon Thor caught sight of a blond haired man—cropped shot according to military regulation—and his eyes a sensible blue. This man was dressed in a captain's navy cloak, making him the commander of the century. Thor was suddenly very grateful for his rather grumpy swordsmanship teacher that had made a point of requiring Thor to memorize the rankings and colorings of the Asgardian legions.

"Hod," the captain nodded to the other before turning to Thor and saying, "I assume you are Thor Odinson?"

"Yes sir," Thor replied immediately.

"I am Captain Foreseti, the commanding officer of Aesir century," the captain introduced. "We received word of your arrival. Centurion Hod, here, will get you settled in. Ask him if you have any questions about schedules and training. If there are any major problems, don't hesitate to speak with me directly, understood?"

Thor was slightly taken aback by the genuine tone of caring in the Captain's voice. He expected to be treated with contempt and scorn, for every person he was met with to sneer at his failures. Guilt weighed heavily down upon him and he thought that was what he deserved. He thought he would deserve any harsh words people would throw at him; he was expecting it. But here, the Captain had only seemed concerned for the soldier under his command.

"Yes sir," Thor answered, dutifully.

"Good. As you were, soldiers," Captain Foreseti nodded to the two men before continuing on his way, his navy cloak swaying after him as he left.

Hod gave Thor a friendly smile, saying, "We are about to break our fasts. Come, we shall settle you into the barracks after you have had something to eat." Without another second to spare, Hod was leading Thor towards the building that housed the dining hall.

Along the way, Hod cheerfully greeted a stocky blond man that was dressed in similar centurion armor to their own. "Good morning to you, Ull! How did you sleep?"

"On my back, Hod," Ull replied, giving Hod a scowl at his cheerfulness despite the earliness of the hour as the three entered into the dining hall, joining the queue of other legionnaires awaiting their morning meal.

Hod was unfazed by his friend's mood, saying, "Thor, this is Ull. The century's best archer and Ull, this is Thor the—"

"Who's the new kid?" interrupted an almost lazy voice. Ull's already sour expression turned into a deadly glare while Hod's smile vanished into a scowl of his own. Thor raised an eyebrow at the two before turning to consider the man that had spoken. He was shorter than Thor with similar coloring to Hod—he must also be from the Alfheim colonies—and he wore a smirk across his smug face that he didn't seem aware of, rather it was simply a natural expression.

"Bragi," Hod nodded, his voice clipped.

Ignoring Hod, Bragi continued on, "Thor, was it? Well, you look decent enough. Farm boy, probably, judging by your muscles. Ever lifted a sword before? No? Well, _I_ really am the only one around here that can fight properly. I mean—"

"Yes," Thor interrupted.

Bragi's eyebrows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, in answer to your question," Thor elaborated, his voice almost holding that same booming quality it used to, but now more serious and challenging. "I _have _lifted a sword and have trained with it. I daresay that I could easily disarm you with it."

"Is that so?" Bragi said, his eyes narrowing back at Thor. "We'll find out on the training grounds then shall we?" He turned back in the queue, helping himself to his share of porridge before briskly marching off.

"Well," Hod said after the three of them had watched Bragi huffily plop down at one of the stone tables. "It's not every day that someone stands up to Bragi. Seems he doesn't know how to handle himself when someone does."

"Really?" Thor questioned, as he followed Ull's lead and dished a ladle full of milky porridge into his simple metal bowl and retrieving a wooden spoon as well. "Why would anyone take such insolence from anyone regularly?"

Ignoring Thor's odd word choice, having decided to not pay it any mind already, Ull replied, "Because he's, unfortunately, the best swordsman of all of us, except the Captain but the Cap'n doesn't duel with anyone. Anyway, because of that Bragi goes around, insulting everyone's fighting and anything else he feels like. You're the first one to actually challenge him." The three legionnaires settled at one of the long stone tables in the dining hall, which seemed to be the regular location for Ull and Hod to take their meals.

"Which was a great way to start off your very first day here, by the way," a feminine voice said from behind Thor and Hod, who sat on one side together, making all of them either look up or crane their necks about. For a brief moment, Thor thought Sigyn had cut her hair and was standing before them, but then he noticed this woman's face was much slimmer than his sister's and she was fair bit shorter.

"Saga!" greeted Hod with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

The red haired woman, Saga, shrugged as she rounded the table to occupy the place next to Ull and across from Thor. "Thought I might visit my two favorite legionnaires this morning before heading to the palace."

As Thor would later learn, Saga was a longtime friend of Ull's, and later Hod's through their mutual friendship of Ull, and was a frequent visitor to the Aesir century. She would usually appear during mealtimes to ask a favor, deliver particularly interesting bits of news, or simply to chat with her friends.

"Palace? What are you doing there?" Hod questioned, his nose wrinkling at the thought. Thor glanced warily at him, hoping no one suddenly realized that Thor was the name of the dishonored prince and that _he_ was in fact that prince from the palace.

"Didn't I tell you? I am to be one of the strategists for the legions' generals and the king," Saga replied, seeming terribly pleased with herself.

"The perks of having a legion general as a father," muttered Ull around a mouthful of porridge. Saga just lightly elbowed her friend for his insult but her good-natured smile never shrunk.

Hod smile happily at Saga, saying, "Congratulations, Saga! That is wonderful news. Oh, I forgot! Saga, this is Thor. Thor, this is Saga."

"A pleasure," Saga said, offering her hand. Thor took it and shook hesitantly, restraining the natural reaction to kiss her hand but knowing that would look out of place to commoners who shook hands in greeting. "I have to applaud you for challenging Bragi. It's about time someone puts him in his place."

"I appreciate your faith in me," Thor replied, a smile across his face.

Before Saga could respond, Captain Foreseti entered into the dining hall, calling all the members of Aesir century to attention. "Listen up!" he shouted. "Today we're starting with sheild training out on the range and then spending the afternoon on the city walls, taking the watch. Get your armor cleaned and polished—we don't want Aesir century to look filthy where every person in the nine realms can see us."

Saga smirked as she silently waved goodbye, leaving the three centurions to their tasks. With archery and guarding that walls of Idavoll, it seemed that Thor's duel with Bragi would have to wait. Standing in the dining hall at attention, he could clearly see Bragi glaring at him from across the room. Only a half an hour after joining the century and he had made a rival. And possibly two new companions.

* * *

Sweat poured from his brow, his breaths becoming labored. His knuckles were white as they gripped the hilt of Gungnir, still in its sword form. He swiped a hand across his forehead, clearing it of perspiration. He narrowed his eyes at his opponent, studying him for the slightest of openings but seeing nothing. He took in a gulp of breath before rolling to dodge once more, slapping the dusty ground before he sprang to his feet once more.

It was the final trial. Twenty-eight warlords he had defeated with Gungnir and his agility but now he was faced with a double headed axe that moved faster than even his own sword. The silver of the two axe heads nothing but a blur as it was swung at him repeatedly, never losing any of its force. Each time, the axe came ever closer to biting into Loki's skin or just barely being deflected by Gungnir. It was because this axe was being wielded by Thiazi.

"Come on, boy," Thiazi taunted as he swung his axe once more, this time aiming not at Loki's torso but at his neck. The prince barely managed to lean back in time, the axe barely a centimeter from tearing into his jugulars. "Fight me."

Loki did not respond, too focused on dodging the incoming attacks. Jump, side step, roll, parry, deflect. This was the mantra that kept cycling through his thoughts. He knew he could not keep this tactic up for much longer. He was tiring quickly of this close-combat dodging while Thiazi seemed only to be heightening his attacks. When Loki shuffled back to avoid the powerful strikes of the axe, the older warrior would easily spring forward, driving the prince steadily back. With five steps, Loki would be backed against the Arena's wooden walls with nowhere to turn or go. He could be completely trapped, no better than a prisoner lined up for execution.

The prince's mind quickly sorted through his options, which were growing slimmer with every passing second. There was only option at this point. He knew it wouldn't be completely fair, but at this point, retaining chivalry was the least of his worries. He was facing death with every one of Thiazi's axe strikes. A plan forming in his mind, a slow smirk spread across Loki's face as he ducked his head once more, Thiazi's axe aimed to separate it from his shoulders.

There was a moment of pause between the two combatants, taking advantage of this brief lull, Loki's lips muttered a low spell under his breath and its power soon took hold. He felt energy humming through him, a sign the incantation had worked, and his smirk widened. Moving faster than even his opponent, Loki sprang off to his right, running with the aid of the spell, at full speed for the Arena's wooden walls. His feet moved like they were carried by the winds that swept across Jotunheim's moorlands, propelling him up onto the Arena walls, bringing him easily around to attack Thiazi from his exposed back.

Leaping off the walls, he muttered a transformation spell, different from his usual one, waving a hand over Gungnir. The sword glowed and expanded not into the original spear but a long, gnarled staff as Loki swung it about him to gain force, shouting another enchantment over the roar of the crowd.

The staff glowed with the power of the incantation and just as Thiazi turned around to face the prince, having regained from his shock at Loki's swift movements, the staff erupted with a blue magical force. The warlord only had time enough to raise his axe in an attempt to defend himself when the force hit him, throwing him backwards and making the axe go skidding well out of his reach.

Loki did not spare a moment for Thiazi or any of the crowd to process what had just occurred, as he ran to hold the tip of his still-glowing staff at the throat of his opponent. The warlord blinked up at the prince, a look of shock in his eyes. Loki dreaded the warlord's reaction. He knew using magic in a physical fight—especially one that was a trial for his kingship—was cheating, at best. But, it was the only thing in his ability that could possibly defeat Thiazi. He would admit freely that his swordsmanship was no match to his opponent's axe.

But, the shocked expression was replaced with an impressed one, not angered or offended. "Let me up, boy," barked Thiazi, good-naturedly.

Loki did as he was told, stepping back and readjusting his grip on Gungnir—which had returned to its spear form—and offering a hand to the warlord. He accepted it and the prince pulled the older warrior to his feet. Thiazi stood for a moment, regarding Loki, in silence before he nodded. Loki dropped to one knee before him and said the request he had been repeating every night for the past twenty-eight days, "I, Loki, son of Laufey, humbly come before you, asking to ascend the throne of Jotunheim."

Thiazi was silence for a moment before his voice boomed out, silencing the Arena's crowd, "People of Jotunheim, what you have just witnessed is true talent and power. No Jotun king in living history has ever had such mastery of magic to fight with it for his coronation trial until this fateful night. Loki has shown great competence with fighting and now he has proven himself to be powerful with magic in spite of his youth. I, Thiazi of Thrymheim, now see fit to present Loki, son of Laufey, heir to the Jotun throne, proud descendant of the house of Utgard and protector of the north, as worthy of the Jotun thrown."

The crowd that had been listening to Thiazi's proclamation with bated breath now erupted into cheers at these words. Loki, looking to the warlord for a nod of approval, turned to the masses when it was given. He slowly turned, taking in the cheering people—_his _people—allowing a deep breath to fill his lungs, relishing the sight and sound. Then, a gracious smile spread across his face. They were Jotunheim and Jotunheim was him, now as their king apparent.

* * *

"Good work during this afternoon's training, men," the Captain was saying to the Aesir century as they stood in formation before their commanding officer. The noontime sun was still high over their heads as sweated dripped down their faces in the heat. The dust from drills and tactics training was just settling over the yards, some of it caking onto the skin of the soldiers. "Because of the excellent progress shown today, I'm granting a two hour segment for self training and practice before giving you the rest of the afternoon off."

There were low mutters of approval at this from amongst the men. The Captain smiled before nodding to the men. "Fall out." They all saluted him smartly before breaking from their formation, immediately gravitating towards their usual companion groups and then proceeding to their preferred practice yard.

Thor, meeting with Hod and Ull as he usually did, joined them as they picked their ways over to the archery. "Pretty decent of the Captain to give us a break," Ull said as he lazily picked up a bow from the wooden rack set out in the training yards, testing the string on it before replacing it on the rack, moving to the next one.

"And here we thought you don't like the Captain," Hod said, exchanging a grin with Thor. Ull, who enjoyed to complain about anyone who did not see the values of archery—which was most everyone in the Asgardian legions, where most soldiers saw honorable fighting as close-range instead of staying out of the battle and shooting people—found particular pleasure in grumbling about the Captain. Ull, like the rest of the men of Aesir century, thought Foreseti to be an excellent leader. He just was annoyed by his lack of enthusiasm for archery.

Ull just shrugged nonchalantly, not seeming to deem that comment worthy of a response. Thor grinned, content to the companionable silence as he choose his own bow, seeing as he needed the practice, while Hod was busying himself with wrestling away the crow fletched feathers from another soldier.

"Hey!" an obnoxious, familiar voice called. "Hey, you! Thor!"

Exchanging a glance with his friends, Thor turned to see who it was that was calling for him. Bragi, his usual smirk across his face, was standing a few paces away from him, the smaller man with a sword in hand and raising it in challenge at Thor. "Are you brave enough to follow through on that challenge of yours or have you been scared by how extremely out of your league you are?" Bragi flexed his muscles at this, showing off his strength.

Thor, in any other circumstance, would have marveled at Bragi for this. Not because of the egotistical man challenging him, but that he was still so persistent. It already been three weeks since his arrival to the century, the days filled with grueling training under the unforgiving sun that had made it seem like those weeks were more like endless years. This was the first opportunity the men had at any free time to do as they pleased in the practice yards, making it the first time Bragi could duel Thor had challenged him to, what seemed like, so long ago.

"I assure you, my very egotistical friend, I am not scared to put you in your place," Thor replied, handing his bow to Hod—who was frowning, not entirely approving of unofficial sparring—and drew his faithful sword that always was in the sheathe at his side.

"You dare cross swords with me?" Bragi taunted.

"Yes, and I dare to fight with you, as well," Thor replied, stoutly. Bragi's face, an annoyed glower, soon settled back into its usual smirk; amused by his opponent. At this point, most of Aesir century had formed a wide ring around the combatants in anticipation of the coming spar.

"Well then, let's get on with it then, shall we?" Bragi said, easily tossing his sword from hand to another in anticipation. Thor did not bother respondin, simply shifting easily into his ready stance that he had been trained for countless years to stand in. It was a stance that, no matter what he was attacked with, would never sway.

Bragi darted in, his sword fast in its upper left strike, but predictable. Thor easily deflected the attack and Bragi danced back, the other's dark eyes darting over Thor's defenses, searching for an opening. There wasn't one, Thor knew. He never allowed himself to give his opponents an opening, his stance firm and unmoving. He simply took every attack they attempted at him until their attacks became desperate and careless, then he would spring into his own attack, so fast and ferocious that it was nearly impossible to defend against. For now, though, it was a waiting game.

Thor watched as Bragi began to circle, taking each attack that he swiped in for with ease and allowing his opponent to come close enough for the strike, but never for it to hit its target. Lower left cut, blocked. Shin slash, easily parried. Upper torso strike, blocked. Thor couldn't stop a smirk from curling his mouth at the sight of Bragi's mounting frustration. He supposed his opponent wasn't so used to being so easily deflected, like he was simply a pesky insect being batted away.

Bragi darted in for a strike, but this time, Thor did not wait for it to meet his sword in defense. Swinging his own blade around, he deflected Bragi's blade as he lunged in for his own upper torso strike which was barely blocked. Bragi seemed to be in shock at the speed of which Thor had not only casted aside his sword but also started in on a barrage of his own attacks.

It became a dance between the two. One dance partner, barely keeping pace as he never had regained his footing after being caught off-guard by the unforeseen ability of his opponent. The other dance partner, brutish in his strikes but rapid in his movements. Both swords became a blur, glinting silver that occasionally caught a flash of noontime sunlight but only for mere moments. The dancers moved to the music of sword clashes, always staying just a beat above the rhythm of the strikes so as to avoid a mistake that would cost them the match.

The crowd that surrounded the combatants, no longer just Aesir century, gasped in time with every movement of the swords. They barely had a second to process each attack and block, the pace of the spar was so fast. But, they watched with bated breath as Bragi and Thor's blades seemed to become invisible, testing each other's speed. Some legionnaires placed beats amongst themselves, others called out jests to the opponents in an attempt to break their concentration, but none of this was heard by either of them.

And then, Thor's sword was under Bragi's. He brought around in a great arch, leveraging his opponent's sword from his hand and sending it sailing through the air. There was a moment of silence as the whole crowd, their eyes following the sword that buried itself into the training yard's dirt. Then, everyone's attention shifted back to Thor and Bragi, awaiting their reactions while attempting to shush one another so as to not miss what was said.

* * *

**A/N: **So we got a glimpse of Thor's new life! Hod, Ull, Bragi, Saga, and Foreseti are all based loosely on the Avengers, (I didn't use their actual names since I thought it would be out of place) though emphasis on loosely. And also, visit the poll on my profile page to show your allegiance to either Asgard or Jotunheim! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave a comment, thought, or what-have-you on our new characters, Loki's triumph, or anything else that catches your fancy!


	7. A Decision

**Warning: **None!

**A/N: **I just wanted to tell everyone not to expect updates over the weekend as I'll be away at camp! Sorry for the wait in advance.

* * *

**Chapter Seven—A Decision**

* * *

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea," Balder said, warily, as he trailed behind his sister as the two siblings descended the great steps that lead from the palace's entrance hall and down to the grand courtyard.

"Of course it is," Sigyn replied, over her shoulder. "We haven't seen him in nearly three weeks!" She missed her older brother. She missed his cheery smile every morning, his booming laughter that filled the halls of the palace. She missed sitting in the shade and teasing Thor as he sparred, she missed watching Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three hold eating contests at feasts despite the Emperor's glares at them. And, even though he would never admit it, Balder felt the same exact way.

Ever since Balder had informed Sigyn that their older brother was stationed at the Aesir century along the northern walls of the city, she had been itching to go visit him. Unfortunately for her, Balder suddenly found himself overwhelmed with an array of not only duties that he had to fulfill as heir apparent but new lessons to be crammed into his already busy—in his opinion—schedule. Balder was not at all pleased by this, often remaking to Sigyn that he did _not_ see any need for etiquette lessons when rescuing an imprisoned damsel. She would promptly tell him to stop whining even though such lessons hindered his capability to accompany her to the century post, since she most certainly was _not_ going alone.

Balder just shook his head at his sister's determination and fell into stride with her as they walked along. Glancing around the palace's courtyard, Balder caught sight of another red headed woman, this one with shorter hair and frame then his sister and he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. He rarely saw another red headed person around other than Sigyn and it always caught his eye when most Asgardians had brown or blond hair. "Hey, Sigyn, look," he said, indicating the woman, "Another red head."

"Yes, amazing isn't it? That someone can have the same hair color as me," Sigyn replied, distractedly as she led the way from the gates of the palace, before adding, "Though, I did meet her just the other day. Her name is Saga, a military strategist for Father and his generals."

"Really?" Balder said, surprised by this news. He opened his mouth to ask for further elaboration but his sister was moving into the streets of Idavoll at a rapid pace that Balder hurried to keep up with. It sometimes was frightening how determined his sister could become when she was on a self-assigned mission. She was very much alike to Thor, or at least the _old_ Thor, in that sense.

Balder attempted to draw her into conversation, but decided it was a lost cause after at least five attempts. It seemed Sigyn was too keen on navigating the twisting and turning streets of the city to pay much attention to her little brother. In Balder's opinion, there was a much simpler route to the century post where their older brother was stationed, as the pair weaved through an obstacle course of stalls in the spice markets, but he kept this to himself. Sigyn would probably just glare coldly at him and he would rather spare himself.

"Here we are," Sigyn announced an hour after the two had set out. Balder blinked up at the plain wall that was set with an archway, ivy climbing up it being the only remarkable part.

"Well," observed Balder. "This is underwhelming."

"I'd have to agree," Sigyn replied, a smile curving up the edges of her mouth.

The two siblings stood together in silence for a moment before Balder sighed and said, "Well, we came all this way, didn't we? No point in just standing outside the post."

"I suppose you do have a point," Sigyn muttered, following Balder's lead through the archway and exiting the busy, cobblestone street to enter a cool, shaded courtyard. It was completely deserted, save for them, and both prince and princess wore identical frowns. "This _is _the right place…" she mumbled.

"Isn't it?" Balder finished for her after a beat of silence. Before he could say anything else, Sigyn was wandering towards the entrance to, what looked like, the century's training yards. Peering in, they say a small crowd gathered around two combatants that were locked in close combat. Curious, Sigyn made her way to join on the outskirts of the group, Balder following reluctantly behind.

Standing on tip-toes to as to attempt to get a good view of the match, Sigyn had to restrain a gasp of shock before hurriedly turning to Balder. "Balder!" she said, unnecessarily as she already had his attention. "One of the legionnaires fighting is Thor!"

"Really?" Balder said, seeming to perk up at the mention of their brother and craned his neck, attempting to pull himself to his full fourteen-year-old height. It was a difficult task for the prince, who still remained as tall as he had been when he was ten and with the broad backs of the soldiers in front of them blocking much of the spar, it was a difficult task. Finally catching sight of his brother, his blond hair still cropped short and stubble alone his jaw line, Balder nodded his approval. "Nice."

Sigyn scowled at her younger brother before turning her anxious gaze back to Thor. She watched as their swords locked for a brief moment, then the blades arched around together, cutting the air, Thor leveraging his opponent's weapon from his hand and sending it soaring through the sky. Her breath caught in her throat, not daring to break the heavy silence that followed.

Thor's opponent, a lean darker haired legionnaire, slowly turned to face Thor. He nodded his respect for Thor's fighting abilities. There was some kind of understandment in the look the two shared, as Thor broke into a grin and a smirk spread across the other's face and he said, with a laugh, "And that, everyone, is how you lose a match and make yourself look like a total idiot."

The crowd burst into laughter at this as Thor's opponent went over to exchange a handshake with Thor, both clapping each other on the shoulder. Sigyn couldn't help but to smile and glance down at Balder, saying approvingly, "Well, it looks like we don't have to worry about Thor." Balder nodded his agreement and the two walked, side by side, from the Aesir century post, picking their way back through the streets of Idavoll and to the royal palace.

* * *

The throne room of Utgard, having been decorated majestically for the trials, was now nothing compared to the splendor of it now that a coronation ceremony was to be held. The warlords all were in their finest attire, their blue Markings painted on in designs that proclaimed their loyalty to the king apparent. The golden braziers along the sides of the room gleamed with polish while not only the emerald and gold of the sigil of Utgard adorned the great walls, but was accompanied by the house colors of every warlord in Jotunheim; all of them having been defeated by Loki and offering their house crests to be added to the walls to signify their allegiance to the throne.

Unlike before, not only did the warlords occupy the room but so did their families, the commanders of Jotunheim's armies, esteemed citizens, and common Jotun folk. All of them dressed in their finest, their excited chatter filling the great hall to a nearly deafening din. Thiazi, looking regal in the burgundy and silver of Thrymheim, observed the throng with keen eyes, a smile hidden underneath his neatly trimmed beard. In his hands was a gleaming crown, crafted of the pure gold from under the Jotun Mountains and set with emeralds from the mines within the royal forest.

Forged over the twenty-nine nights of the coronation trials, the crown was made to appear like that of a stag's antlers, interlocking with one another to form the circlet before branching up into a pair of impressive horns. The antlers were lined with tiny emerald leaves that glittered in the light of the braziers and drew every pair of eyes to it. It was by far the most elaborate crown ever crafted for a Jotun king and also the heaviest.

Thiazi's booming voice called out from over the din of the crowd, "People of Jotunheim, today we are assembled as witnesses to the ascending of the throne a new Jotun king. He has proven himself in battle against the twenty-nine great warlords of Jotunheim, making him ready to become the thirtieth, and most powerful, leader in our realm. He has proven his strength with the sword, his intelligence in tactics, and his force with magic. He is a king apparent that is unlike any other that has come before him. Now, I present him to you to coronate as your king."

To this, the Jotuns cheered their approval as, through the archway of the throne room was unfurled a great stretch of emerald velvet trimmed with gold, the traditional carpet of the king. A pause, allowing for all's attention to focus upon the entrance, and then Loki, garbed in his emerald cloak and his Markings now painted a glinting gold, stepped onto the emerald carpet and into view.

His head was raised proudly, not bothered by the weight of his father's crown that rest proudly upon his brow. His green eyes, so intense in their concentration, were focused upon the Ice Throne at the opposite end of the great hall, his steady, measured steps bringing him ever closer to it. His people were watching his every movement, analyzing the man they would soon bend the knee to as the king.

Stopping before Thiazi, Loki gracefully slid onto one knee before warlord, saying, "I, Loki, son of Laufey, have proven myself to the warlords of Jotunheim. I have won the approval of my people, the strong Jotuns, and have been declared their king apparent. I have taken upon myself the duty of my father to ascend the throne in his stead."

"Loki, son of Laufey, you have fulfilled the duty to your father and now you are to be sworn to fulfill the duty to your kingdom," Thiazi replied before saying, "Do you, as king, vow to always do what is best for the people of Jotunheim."

"I do so vow," Loki replied.

"Do you, as king, vow to honor the opinions of your warlords and people, to always invite them into your counsel?"

"I do so vow."

"Do you, as king, vow to respect the ancient laws of Jotunheim's forefathers, to pass judgment with wisdom and remain steadfast?"

"I do so vow."

"Do you, as king, vow to defend the Jotun borders against the aggression of its neighbors?"

"I do so vow."

"With the vows of the king so spoken, the old king's crown shall be reinstated to King Laufey and instated the new crown," Thiazi announced. Loki reached up and gently slid the iron crown from atop his head. He placed it carefully upon the velvet pillow offered to him by a bearer. Wordlessly, Thiazi lowered the golden crown he held in his hands, with as much pomp and regality as the situation called for, placing the great golden crown upon Loki's brow. "Rise, Loki, son of Laufey, proud descendant of the house of Utgard and protector of the north, as the King of Jotunheim."

Loki raised his head to look into Thiazi's eyes, a brief smile flicking onto his face, before he gracefully rose, not showing any sign of discomfort from the heavy crown. The crowd, having all heard the proclamation as it echoed through the hall, burst into a great roar of approval, sending the new king's ears ringing. Loki remained composed as Thiazi stepped aside, allowing the king to ascend the steps of the dais. Loki ascended regally, savoring the moment before slowly, so as to allow his cloak to flow around him, Loki turned to face his people.

Holding out his hand as was custom, a servant stepped forward, offering Gungnir—back in its spear form—to Loki, bowing away as the king grasped firmly a hold of it. Slowly, his eyes never leaving the shining gold of Gungnir, he raised the great spear up in the air for all the throne room to see. A mighty cheer erupted from the throats the Jotuns—_his _people—and Loki could not stop a wide grin to come across his face.

As the cheering began to fade, Loki finally sat upon the Ice Throne for the first time as the King. On his exterior, he wore his proud, regal smile, but on the inside, he heaved a sigh of immense relief that he had been holding since his father's passing. He had defeated the warlords of Jotunheim, the twenty-nine greatest warriors in the realm without losing any limbs and had completed every ceremony, saying the traditional words with a practiced ease. He watched with relaxed grin as the festivities commenced; as servants bustled into the throne room, carrying feast tables and long wooden benches for all to crowd together on. Roasting salvers of pork, beef, and chicken soon filled onto the tables along with plates, tableware, and thick cloth napkins. Vegetables platters, smothered in cream sauce followed suit along with stacks of meat, fruit, and jam pastries, mounds of arrays of bread, pots of hearty mutton stews, caldrons of rabbit soup, and heaping piles of honey roasted apples—a favorite Jotun entrée delicacy.

Loki observed as his people ate, catching Mim's eye as he attempted to pry his mother's vice grip on his arm. Mim said something to her making Menglad glance from her son then to the new king, frowning a bit as she did. After a moment of consideration, she nodded and released Mim, the young man gratefully hurrying to the base of the dais. Regarding him with a grin as he arrived, Loki said, "Had your mother wanted to introduce you to a very eligible young maiden here?"

Mim smirked, saying dryly, "It's like you enjoy my pain."

Loki chuckled before heaving a long, relieved sigh, saying, "Well, Mim. Here we are; me as the king and you as my royal advisor."

"Yes, you're now officially a royal—wait, what did you just say?" Mim began to quip sarcastically before he blinked, realizing what Loki had just said.

"You as my royal advisor?" questioned Loki, resisting smirking and instead raising an eyebrow in question.

Mim laughed at that, saying, "Like _you_ ever listen to my advice."

"I may not always listen to your advice, but I always have trusted it to be sound," Loki replied, honestly.

"Oh, stop it, Loki. You're making me blush," Mim replied, grinning at his own jest before he sighed dramatically, saying, "Okay, fine. You need not beg; you've smooth talked me into it. I shall take the post."

"Excellent," Loki nodded. He knew exactly what he needed Mim's aid with immediately. He needed to make good on his final promise to his father. The sooner he vied for peace, the sooner Jotunheim could get out of this conflict. He knew Jotuns wouldn't so easily accept the decision for peace, seeing it as surrender, but he also knew that every one of his people were tired of war. They were ready for their sons, husbands, sweethearts, uncles, and nephews to return home.

Loki glanced about the throne room once more, easily catching Thiazi's eye and gesturing for him. The lord, placing the mutton leg he had been picking through onto his plate, rose from his place, walking with all the regality a man of status should as he swept across the hall. Upon reaching the steps of the dais, Thiazi slightly bowed, saying, "Your Majesty?"

"Lord Thiazi, as the eldest of the warlords, I trust your judgment on all matters," Loki began. Thiazi knew what he meant by this; Thiazi commanded all the warlords should he want and Loki needed him to control the country. "My father made me promise him before he drew his last breath to work for peace with Asgard. He knows what the conflict has done to our country; it has ravaged the southern farmlands, crippled our economy, and slaughtered countless Jotun men and women."

"He made me swear to propose a treaty to the Asgardians, that they would push their borders back one hundred miles, to the River Ifing, and we would promise peace. To ensure it to be long lasting, there would be an union between myself and a princess of Asgard. If these terms were not met, the ultimatum would be total war," Loki explained, thinking of the drafted treaty he had been revising for the past month sitting up on the desk in his personal study.

Neither Mim nor Thiazi spoke for a long moment. Mim's brows were furrowed as he thought, seeming not at all inclined towards the treaty, which was the reaction Loki expected from most Jotuns. Thiazi, meanwhile, seemed to be carefully considering this proposal with interested. After the pause, the warlord finally said, "I see the wisdom of the treaty and I would agree that is the best option for Jotunheim. It would be a decisive first ruling as king, it would reflect well upon your reign if you moved to ensure peace for the country and stop this conflict. I will support you in this, King Loki."

Loki nodded, seeing the genuine approval on Thiazi's face. With the support from the Lord of Thrymheim, he would gain the support of every warlord in Jotunheim. The people would soon follow when they began to dream of the prospect of peace, and he easily would gain support from all of Jotunheim. Taking a deep breath, he looked to Mim. His friend gave small nod of his own approval, convinced now that he heard Thiazi's agreement.

Without needing to be asked, Mim said with a grin, "Yes, I'll help you write the treaty. That's what advisors are for, isn't it?"

* * *

The two royal women were reclining in the queen's personal parlor, the afternoon shade that the open aired room provided cool against their skin. The summer heat had finally arrived in Asgard; making most of the wealthier citizens of Idavoll flee to their country estates, leaving the common folk and the royalty to suffer through the miserable heat that had finally set in a week ago—three days after Sigyn and Balder's journey to the Aesir post. Currently, Sigyn was intent on a scroll of Asgardian legends while Frigga stitched onto her latest needlework project, humming softly as she worked.

"Your Majesty." Frigga glanced up to see a servant respectfully standing in the parlor's doorframe, waiting for the queen's leave.

A gentle smile graced her lips and she prompted, "Yes?"

"The Emperor requires Your Majesty and Her Highness' presence in the throne room immediately," the servant replied.

Sigyn, her attention drawn from her scroll at the mention of her title, raised an eyebrow at this news, exchanging a look with her mother. "Thank you, we will go to him shortly," Frigga replied, nodding in dismissal to the servant. He gaze a smart bow before disappearing from the doorframe as quietly as he had arrived.

"What do you think he wishes to discuss?" Sigyn asked her mother as she collected herself from her cushion and the queen carefully set aside her needlework, standing as well.

"Maybe he wishes to begin planning of Balder's name day celebrations?" Frigga speculated as she linked her arms with her daughter's, the two women exiting the parlor and walking in perfect step, their feet carrying them along to the throne room without much thought. Balder would be turning fifteen, the name day when an Asgardian boy was officially a man. Though, that was four months away yet, too early for that to plausibly be what the Emperor requested their presences for.

"Father never plans ahead this far," Sigyn said, chuckling slightly at the thought of her father and his inability to party plan, a task he usually, thankfully, left in the care of his very capable wife. Frigga grinned as well at the thought as both women glided through the great gilded doors of the throne room.

Odin sat upon the throne, his head bent in worry and dark spots under his eyes, as though he hadn't slept in quite some time. Frigga's eyebrows knitted together in worry and she asked as they reached the foot of the dais, "Odin, my love, when have you last slept properly?"

The Emperor merely gazed at his wife for a long moment before his blue eyes fell upon Sigyn, regarding her in a mixture of both sadness and question. As if judging if he should share the sad news that obviously weighed upon his thoughts.

"Frigga, I appreciate your concern, but my health is not the most pressing matter at hand," Odin replied after a pause, not unkindly as he gave his wife a loving look. She nodded in understanding. Frigga knew that expression of her husband's and did not question it.

"You both have heard of Laufey's death," Odin began after another silence to collect his thoughts. Frigga and Sigyn nodded their acknowledgement that they had, though it was not entirely necessary. "It is Jotun tradition to set forth trials for the heir to the throne to prove that he is worthy of ascending it. These trials last for a month, with the thirtieth night of that month being when the heir's coronation is held. We have received word only yesterday's evening that Loki has officially succeeded his father and is now King of Jotunheim. This news was accompanied by a message from the new king, a treaty."

"What does this treaty propose?" Frigga prompted, her eyebrows furrowing even more than they had been previously at this news.

"King Loki offers…" Odin paused for a moment, as if not quite believing the words he was uttering. "Peace."

There was pause before Sigyn finally burst out, "You will accept it, won't you?"

Odin's gaze shifted to her, filled with the same sadness as before. "The terms, I am not sure if I can agree to. He offers permanent peace, if we push the borders back to the Ifing River and if we create a link between our two kingdoms to ensure continuing peace; a royal marriage. A princess of Asgard to wed the King of Jotunheim."

"No!" Frigga burst out, without hesitation. "I will not have my daughter being married off to some _savage_ in the north that calls himself king!"

"He says that if his conditions aren't meant, then Jotunheim will engage in total warfare with Asgard," Odin replied, not letting his gaze waver from Sigyn.

She bit her lip. "Did the peace treaty give a certain date by which these conditions must be fulfilled?"

The Emperor nodded in response. Odin regarded his daughter; she was adopted, but she was still his daughter. He loved his little girl fiercely and he would never impose upon her such a thing as a political marriage if she did not wish it. "The decision is yours alone to make, Sigyn," he said, simply.

Sigyn took in a shaky breath before her eyes hardened and she replied, "Is there really a decision to be made? Asgard can defend against Jotunheim, yes, but at what cost? Blood would run like water through both our lands. I will go to Jotunheim and be the wife of this king."

Frigga let out a cry at this but Odin simply nodded at his daughter, knowing that this would be her decision before he had even asked. He hated that, because Sigyn had picked the right option for Asgard, she picked the wrong option for herself, throwing away her life. And there was absolutely nothing he could do as a father to stop her. Being the Emperor of Asgard came first.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" questioned Balder, giving his elder sister a skeptical look. "I mean, you don't know anything about Jotunheim culture. You'd probably offend them five minutes after you're presented to the king and then start a war between us anyway."

"I appreciate your confidence in my diplomatic skills," Sigyn replied, dryly.

Balder shrugged, not looking the least apologetic for his words. "And you realize that you're going to have to _marry_ the king, right? Give him heirs?"

Sigyn narrowed her eyes. "The thought _has_ crossed my mind, yes."

"Just making sure," Balder said, turning away from his sister and looking back at the scrolls that were strewn on the study table before them. After being dismissed from the audience with her father, Sigyn had rushed to find Balder and inform him on these latest developments; finding him in his usual haunt: a study table tucked into a quiet corner of the palace's library. "Though, Sigyn, do you think this really is a good idea? I mean, with all that's happened lately…" Balder trailed off, glancing wearily back at Sigyn.

She sighed, saying, "Balder. It's been over a month. Theoric wouldn't want me to cry over him all the time and I'm not going to suddenly collapse into hysterics at any given moment like _you_ seem to think I'm going to."

"What about Thor?" Balder asked, pointedly not rising to Sigyn's jab. "He's doing fine and well in his century but shouldn't—"

"Balder," Sigyn said, her voice sounding tired. "He just wants to fit in with his new comrades and he seems to be doing quite well for himself. Us intruding on him would not help, especially if he is so determined to act as a legionnaire."

The prince frowned. "Why is he doing this?"

Sigyn simply shook her head in response. She missed her brother just as much as Balder did, but Thor had made it quite clear all those nights ago that he wanted to be treated like a lowly legionnaire, that he felt like he deserved it. He was still their brother, but Sigyn knew it was best to leave him be in his century. From what they had seen of him, he was doing well for himself and having two members of the royal family burst in on an ordinary foot soldier would not help Thor keep up appearances in the least. So, as much as they missed him, it was best to keep their distance.

Silence stretched out between the two siblings. Finally Balder sighed and said, "So Jotunheim, eh?"

"It looks like it," Sigyn replied with a small grin at her brother's expression.

"Well, the first thing you need to know about Jotunheim culture—particularly the royalty and nobility—is that the men never wear anything on their torsos. Commoners do as well as nobility on a daily basis, but for ceremonies, battles, and hunts, no tunics. Male members of the royal family are never to be covered after they turn fourteen years old and until they are on their death bed. They are to have the Markings of a warrior on at all times. Because ruling a country is a daily battle, apparently," Balder explained.

"What are the Markings, exactly?" prodded Sigyn, curiosity piqued despite herself.

"Its blue paint that is drawn onto the face and torso of the men to symbolize determination and a commitment, which is also why the higher ranking men don't cover their torsos," Balder elaborated. "Though, apparently, even royal males are allowed to wear fur tunics while hunting in the snowy Jotunheim mountains, since there _does_ come a point when it goes from manly to just plain _stupid."_

Sigyn laughed at her brother's sarcastic comment, eagerly listening to him prattle on about the realm she would be journeying to in the near future, laughing at his jokes. She tried to push the thoughts that her days were now numbered on when she would be able to speak with Balder as a sister and not a foreign monarch and that she had, most likely, no days whatsoever left to spend with Thor. He most likely wouldn't hear of her betrothal to King Loki before she was made a new wife.

* * *

"Dear, you have to convince her to not go through with this," Frigga pleaded with her husband. They were reclining in their shared bedchamber, her head resting against his shoulder.

"Hmm?" Odin asked, not entirely paying attention to his wife as his mind became hazy with sleep.

"Sigyn, our daughter who is willingly selling herself off to be married to some savage king in the north," Frigga clarified. "You must stop her decision! It's not necessary in the least!" Odin frowned at her. He knew his wife never viewed Jotuns as savages, that it was only her desperation and panic speaking.

"My dear, I love our Sigyn as much as you do but there is nothing I can do—" Odin began, attempting to reason with his wife.

"_You_ could tell her not to go through with this treaty!" Frigga interrupted.

Odin frowned down at his wife. "Frigga. She is taking the right, safest course of action. We would be risking full warfare with Jotunheim if we refuse. King Loki gave us that ultimatum and we shall not test his word."

Frigga remained insistent, saying, "Jotunheim's armies are no match for the legions of Asgard. It would only mean their ruin."

"The price of lives from such a conflict would be much too high a cost for Asgard to pay," Odin replied. "My love, you know that she is doing the right thing. The brave thing."

Frigga's lip trembled and then, after attempting to control them for so long, salty. fat tears slid from her eyes and ran in streaks down to her cheek. She buried her face into her husband's shoulder, no longer a dignified queen but simply a mother crying for her children. Odin held her close to his side, rubbing her back in comfort and attempting to rein in his own emotions.

"I—I just feel like I'm l-losing them all," the queen managed to croak out in between tears. Her shoulders shook as her sobs became more hysterical.

"Shh, I know my darling," Odin murmured to her. He wished he could cry for the loss of his beloved children. For the eldest son he had been forced to exile so as to appear to be a strong king that did not tolerate defiance, for his only beloved daughter who was being brave for her country, and for his youngest son, who never wanted to be the heir to the throne and only wanted to read and learn more every day. But, he was the Emperor to the vast realm that Asgard had become. Showing emotions was a sign of weakness that a man of his rank could not afford.

There was nothing to save his children from the duties they had been born into or the punishment for their actions that he did not wish to sentence. He could not save them, only sit to the side and watch as they drifted farther away from him until they would be completely lost.

* * *

**A/N: **I love Frigga, she's wonderful. So, poll time! Are you an Asgardian or Jotun? Visit my profile page and pledge your allegiance! And, as always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Leave a thought, question, or what-have-you about the new treaty, Odin's deep fatherly side, what Loki and Sigyn will think of each other when they _finally_ meet, or what ever else that catches your fancy!


	8. Departure

**Warnings: **None

**A/N: **I'm back and onto the next chapter!

* * *

**Chapter Eight—Departure**

* * *

"Welcome, my young pupils, to a lesson in Jotunheim culture," Balder said loftily as he stood before Sigyn and Frigga, both who were sitting on mounds on cushions in the queen's parlor. The queen, having decided that she wanted to learn of the people her daughter would be the ruler of if she was to be losing her to them, had insisted on Balder and Sigyn holding their lessons in her personal parlor.

Frigga laughed at the antics of her younger son while Sigyn rolled her eyes and said, "Just get on with it."

"Ah, I see we are eager to learn today," Balder replied cheekily, as he settled onto his own cushion so as to be comfortable while teaching. Not giving his sister the chance to respond, Balder continued on, saying, "Today, we will be learning the traditions of Jotun weddings, which will be important for Sigyn in the very near future."

"Traditional Jotun weddings are very simple affairs, the couple is married by a priest outside under the open sky much like here. But the dress is a little different. You see, in Jotunheim, women are considered sacred and are to be treated with the highest honor and thus are required to wear clothes that cover every inch of them except for their face. Basically, our clothes are a bit scandalous by their standards," Balder explained, indicating the loose stola Sigyn wore and the chlamys that Frigga wore, both of which left their arms and a good portion of their legs bare.

"Anyway, so the brides wear their finest clothes—covered everything except for their heads, which are covered with veils for most the ceremony. The men however are 'sky clad,' which means they are completely nude," Balder concluded.

Sigyn's face was a color similar to the scarlet tunic Balder wore while Frigga's mouth had fallen open in complete shock as the blood drained from her cheeks, leaving her pale with fright. "What?" Sigyn squeaked out.

Balder watched them for a moment before bursting out into laughter. "Your—your faces! You should, you should see them!" Balder choked out around his gal of laughter, holding his stomach as he cackled in delight. Frigga breathed a sigh of relief, coloring returning to her, as Sigyn glared dangerously at her little brother.

"That's _not_ funny, Balder," grounded out Sigyn between clenched teeth.

"Oh, I beg to differ, dear sister," Balder replied, calming his laughter and now grinning cheerfully at her.

"Balder, be serious, dear. This is very important to your sister," Frigga interjected before the two siblings could launch into a heated argument.

Balder sighed but nodded placidly to his mother before saying, "That was just a joke. That is was the traditions for _commoner's _weddings in _ancient_ Jotunheim. For royal weddings nowadays, the couple—the bride still wearing her finest clothes, completely covered with a veil over the head, and the groom _not _sky clad—partakes in a dance. The ceremony hall is filled with all the guests and the couple starts on opposite ends of the dance, moving through different partners towards each other. This is to symbolize the couples' life before one another, interacting with the different people in their lives that shape them into who they are, until they meet each other in the center of the hall, representing their meeting in life."

"How lovely," Frigga said, with a soft smile. Despite her not being particularly fond of Jotunheim or its king for taking away her daughter, she couldn't deny the sentiment of the ceremony to be romantic.

Balder pulled a face at this comment, obviously thinking it disgustingly 'mushy', but continued on, "When the couple meet, they are not allowed to look upon one another's faces, to show honor in their time together. Together they must move through a complicated dance, showing their trust in one another, their ability to rely on one another in times of trial, and to show the twists and turns of life that they will weather. I haven't been able to find an exact description of the dance other than that it is ridiculously hard."

"What happens if someone were to mess up the dance?" questioned Sigyn, her brows furrowed.

"Then the marriage is devoid," Balder replied. "If either the bride or the groom fails to complete the dance, they cannot be wed. It also is the highest form of dishonor in Jotunheim. Most people commit suicide if they fail."

"That makes me feel _so_ much better, thank you, Balder," Sigyn replied, dryly.

Her little brother chuckled before saying, "Don't panic, I'm sure you'll be taught all you need to know."

Before Sigyn could say anything in reply, a soft knock interrupted the siblings. Frigga, seeming to have been expecting this, turned on her cushion to peer at the door of her parlor, saying, "Come in." A lean woman stepped into the room, her sandy brown hair curly around her and a shy smile across her face. "Ah, Fulla. Thank you for coming."

The woman, dressed in a simple servant's palla, bobbed a curtsey to the queen at her words, saying, "Of course, my queen." Sigyn blinked at the woman, Fulla. She knew most the servants that attended her mother and herself, but she had never seen this servant before. What was more, she had a strange accent that Sigyn was fairly sure wasn't Asgardian.

"Sigyn, I'd like you to meet Fulla. I've employed her to be your new lady's maid and travel with you to Jotunheim. She grew up on the border of Jotunheim and knows their ways. I thought she would be a valuable companion," Frigga said, waving Fulla to come closer and present herself to the princess.

Under Sigyn's gaze, Fulla bobbed another curtsey, looking extremely self conscious with not only a queen's attention direct upon her but a prince and princess as well. "It's nice to make your acquaintance, Fulla," Sigyn nodded, a polite smile across her face.

Sigyn knew that her mother was worried about her and it was a very kind of Frigga to employ a servant that knew more beyond how to twist hair, stitch dresses, and tidy rooms. She did appreciate it, but the princess knew why her mother was suddenly showering her with gifts and going completely out of her for the littlest of things. Frigga was losing her only daughter. Sigyn glanced over at her mother to see that the queen was staring at her lap, her eyes glinting with tears.

Sigyn reached a comforting hand out to her mother. Frigga glanced up at her, the princess' expression showing reassurance for the queen. Then, she said, sincerely, "It was very thoughtful of you to hire Fulla for me, Mother. Thank you."

* * *

Loki felt like his head was being weighed down by a small mountain of ice that had managed to take residence on the top of him. He ached to pull the heavy gold crown off his aching head but had to restrain himself for the sake of dignity. It was the largest yet to be created for a Jotun king and it certainly was the heaviest.

He supposed he would have to build very strong neck muscles if he didn't want to fall over from the sheer weight of his crown and avoid the dishonor it would bring to the royal family for the king's helm to touch the ground.

Currently, he was seated on the Ice Throne, attempting to ignore the weight on his head and focus on the farmer that had come before the king for judgment. Weekly, Utgard was open to peasants to come and have an audience with the king to express a plight, petition, or proposal. It was an ancient system and one of the easier tasks of being king. It only involved using common sense, which Loki had decided when he was watching his father's audiences, that the peasants did not have too much of.

"So you see, King Loki," the farmer was saying, "I _must_ have an extra ox for my fields otherwise my harvest will fail and my family will not last through the winter!"

"Say no more," Loki replied, his voice calm and smooth as it always was when he passed judgment. "You shall be granted an ox from the royal herds of Utgard. It will be yours to care for and keep, if you treat it well."

"Oh thank you, thank you, your Majesty!" cried the farmer, smiling so brightly up at the king that Loki blinked in wonder. Wonder that some people's worries could so easily be resolved with the granting of an animal. Loki nodded in response to the farmer as he bowed away, his place being taken by a homely woman with mousey brown hair.

"Speak, for I, King Loki, am listening," Loki demanded, saying the traditional words to begin every audience.

With a brief bob of a curtsey, the woman began, "Your Majesty, my neighbor and I have recently had an argument between us. We made a wager on who had the fairer hens—"

Thankfully, before she could continue and bore everyone within earshot to tears, Mim burst into the throne room, hurrying to kneel before the king and completely ignoring the woman who was speaking. "King Loki, pardon the interruption."

"Rise, Mim. What news have you?" Loki asked, eagerly leaning forward on the Throne.

Standing, Loki saw the smile of delight playing across his friend's face. "A reply for the court in Idavoll."

Loki nodded before announcing to the court assembled in the throne room, "The king's audiences shall continue tomorrow's afternoon. For now, it is adjourned." There was a great shuffling at the king's word and a slow procession of courtiers and common folk filing from the room, trying Loki's patience as he itched to hear of Mim's news but knew it best to wait until they were in private. The only ones in complete confidence on the treaty were Mim and Thiazi, and Loki wished to keep it that way.

Receiving a nod from Loki to continue when they finally were the only two remaining in the throne room, Mim said, "We just received word from a messenger raven. Emperor Odin has accepted the terms. The Princess Sigyn is to leave in a week's time for Jotunheim. She will arrive in four weeks here, at Utgard if her travels go as planned."

"Mim, I'm charging you with the responsibility to make sure they _do_ go as planned," Loki said, quite seriously. "I'm trusting you to make preparations for her travels along Jotun roads as well as her stay her and the wedding. Everything must go flawlessly if we wish for this peace treaty to work."

Mim snorted, saying, "And suddenly I'm the palace steward."

Ignoring him, Loki continued, "The wedding ceremony shall be a combination of our cultures, to show good faith in our long lasting peace."

"So does that mean no dancing?" Mim questioned, perking up considerably. Loki gave him a questioning look and Mim shrugged, saying, "My mother thinks that by forcing me into practicing the wedding dance it will motivate me to find a wife that will dance it with me."

Grinning slyly, Loki said, "Because of that, we'll make the dance twice as long as usual, just for you."

Mim couldn't help but chuckle at this, saying, "Poor Princess Sigyn. She has no idea what she's getting herself into." Loki laughed as well, shaking his head but he couldn't but wondering as he and Mim bantered back and forth in between planning: what was Sigyn, his Asgardian bride, like?

* * *

"Good morning to you, Princess Sigyn!" cried a jovial voice.

Sigyn glanced around from atop her horse, trying to locate the speaker. At the present, she was sitting atop her palomino palfrey, Sinir, as a flurry of servants and grooms swirled about her, loading the carriage and wagons that were to accompany her and her royal guard on their journey north. It was much too early in the morning for her to be awake, in her opinion, and she now blinked blearily around.

Striding towards her was Volstagg, looking much too cheery for the current time in the morning, grinning widely at her. "Volstagg, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but it really is much too early for it," Sigyn said, not bothering with politeness as the stout warrior came to a halt at the side of her horse.

"That is quite alright, Princess, we'll have time to speak with one another the whole ride north!" Volstagg replied, his booming voice making Sigyn's ears ring.

She blinked at him for a moment as the words registered through her drowsy mind and after a pause, her eyebrows shot up as she exclaimed, "What?"

"Well, Hogun, Fandral, Sif, and I all decided we needed a bit of a break from the Idavoll and we decided accompanying you to the border of Jotunheim would be the perfect distraction," Volstagg elaborated, grinning broadly, obviously pleased with himself. Sigyn frowned at this; ever since they had returned from the mission to Jotunheim, the Warriors Three and Sif had rarely been in the capital city, let alone the palace. They only returned for a day or two before venturing out on another hunting trip, a mission to apprehend bandits along the roadways, or aiding villagers in the countryside. They had no need for a break from Idavoll when they were hardly there.

Volstagg didn't seem to notice her reaction as he was distracted with sight of Fulla—her brown curls pinned neatly back and dressed in a traveling palla—hurrying towards Sigyn, a pack slung over her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, your Highness, I overslept and wasn't able to help you to—"

"It's perfectly fine, Fulla," Sigyn interrupted her panicked maid. "I would have slept a bit longer too if I was given the opportunity." Fulla looked like she wanted to say something else but then she found her hand in Volstagg's rather large ones and a deep blush immediately bloomed across her face.

Volstagg, though usually more interested with food but still was quite capable of charming women as easily as Fandral could, had a dashing smile across his face as he said, "Ah, I was wondering what the name of such an enchanting young woman was. An absolute pleasure to meet you, Lady Fulla." He made a show of kissing Fulla's hand, making the maid turn a deep shade of scarlet.

"I'm—I'm n—not a lady," she stuttered out in reply, her northern accent thick in her embarrassment. Sigyn watched in amusement at the sight, wondering if she should save her poor, flustered maid from the charm of Volstagg.

"Volstagg, stop embarrassing the poor girl; can't you see you're making her uncomfortable?" came a teasing voice that Sigyn knew quite well. The Princess grinned as Sif came into view, leading her bay destrier behind her, it already saddled with her pack strapped to its back.

"I am doing no such thing, Lady Sif!" retorted Volstagg, giving a wink to Fulla, who looked like she was dearly wishing to have her hand released so she may go hide somewhere in her embarrassment.

Finally taking pity on her maid, Sigyn said, "Volstagg, if you would be so kind as to let go of my maid's hand so that she can go see to the preparations for my carriage?"

"Of course, your Highness," Volstagg replied, cordially before he kissed Fulla's hand once more, saying, "Until we meet again, my lady." Fulla mumbled something incoherent in response before practically sprinting away.

"What in all of Asgard was that about?" questioned Fandral, who had appeared just in time to see Fulla scamper off with a cheerful Volstagg smiling after her. "Volstagg, I thought we went over this before; you aren't to scare the ladies of the court!"

"I wasn't scaring her!" protested Volstagg, his smile not lessening in the least. "I think she rather liked me."

"Can we agree to not harass my maid?" Sigyn interrupted, raising an eyebrow at the two men while Sif chuckled at them all.

"She's _your_ maid, is she?" Fandral said, seeming to completely ignore the princess' actual comment. "Well, that means she is coming north with us!"

"Yes, I shall spend the whole journey wooing the fair young maiden," Volstagg laughed, delighted by his own joke.

Fandral smiled back, his eyes slightly narrowing in challenge, "Oh yes? I could easily woo her before you. She will obviously pick my charming good looks over you."

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, my friend," Volstagg shook his head. "My charming personality will win her."

"Fine! A bet then!" declared Fandral.

"Excuse me, your Highness," said a servant politely as he approached the opposite side of Sigyn's horse that Fandral, Volstagg, and Sif were on. Nodding to him, Sigyn indicated for him to continue. "The Emperor requests your presence."

"Thank you. I'll be with him in a moment," Sigyn replied, the servant bowing in response. Sliding down from her horse, she handed the reins to a stable boy before weaving her way through the chaos of the courtyard and up the steps to the entrance hall, where her father and mother awaited her. Saga, the advisor, stood not far away and Sigyn glanced curiously at her before returning her attention to her parents.

"Sigyn," was all Frigga said before she pulled her daughter into a tight hug. Sigyn wrapped her arms her mother just as fiercely, knowing this may be the last time she'd ever see her. She buried her face into the queen's shoulder, trying to commit the warmth of her mother's embrace into memory to comfort her when she was in the frozen wasteland she would be traveling to.

Finally Frigga pulled back from her daughter. Odin took her place, pulling her into a strong embrace. The Emperor rarely hugged his children but when he did, his embraces were strong and protective; it made Sigyn feel like his strength would go with her to the north. She _hoped_ this was the case.

And then Odin's face turned serious and he indicated Saga, who had been hanging awkwardly to one side, to step forward. "Sigyn, I trust you've met Saga?" he inquired. Sigyn nodded mutely in response that she had. "She has been corresponding with the royal advisor of King Loki to help ensure the safety of your journey," Odin explained before nodding to the woman.

Saga glanced warily at the Emperor and queen before nodding and saying, "Yes, I have. He has assured us that the northwest road will be patrolled by guards for the protection of your company. An honor guard will also meet you along the border for further protection as well as it being Jotun tradition. The guard will not include the king but Lord Mìmir of Gastropnir, the advisor, will be a part of it."

Sigyn nodded, sighing slightly in relief despite herself. She had spent hours worrying over what type of man King Loki was. She had only heard rumors of the prince, now king, and they were hardly anything to pass judgment with. She had worried that she would need to face him immediately upon entering Jotunheim, but now she had at least the few extra days it took to reach Utgard. She wanted to grin in pure relief. Trying her best to not show her emotions, she asked just for confirmation, "Will King Loki welcome me at Utgard, then?"

"Yes or so the message said," Saga replied, nodding her verification.

Sigyn took in a deep breath to calm her nerves before forcing a bright smile across her face, knowing it was expected of her, as she said, "Thank you." Saga curtseyed to the princess before hurriedly excusing herself. The princess turned back to her parents, both of who pulled her into another hug.

"Goodbye, my dear. All our love and prays go with you," Frigga said, as she pulled away from her daughter once more, tears making her eyes shine.

Sigyn nodded, choking back her own carefully guarded tears. She needed to give the impression of being strong. She had to be like her father, unfazed by everything and always doing what was right. Which was what she was doing, or so she told herself. She knew it was selfish of her to think that she could very easily break her part of the treaty, instead staying with the people she loved and the home she knew. But, then she reminded herself that she was doing the right thing, as her father knew she would, by preventing her people from further loss. "I love you, Mother."

"I love you too," Frigga said, giving her daughter a sad smile.

"You are doing the brave thing. We're very proud of you," Odin said, a warm hand resting on Sigyn's shoulder. "Our blessing and protection goes with you. Stay safe."

"I will," Sigyn replied, looking at her father and mother, memorizing their faces. Then Odin pulled her and Frigga into a hug together.

"We love you, Sigyn. Never forget that," Odin said before releasing his wife and daughter. Sigyn knew now was the time to go, her father was never found of lengthy farewells and neither was she, so she turned with a smile to them, and hurried back down the stairs of the entrance hall and to the courtyard, finding her palfrey, Sinir, where she had left her being held steady by a stable boy.

"Thank you," she nodded to the servant before swinging herself easily up into the saddle.

"Are you going to leave without saying goodbye?" questioned an amused voice. Sigyn grinned without even needing to see who it was.

"Balder," she said, sliding back to the ground from the saddle, Sinir snorting at her in annoyance, to stand before her little brother. She gave him a grin before he threw his arms around her. Sigyn laughed as she staggered back under his force, but returned his hug, tucking her little brother under her chin.

"I'm going to miss you, Sigyn," Balder mumbled, embarrassed at himself. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"I know, me too," Sigyn agreed before pulling on a brave smile and saying brightly, "But I'll send you letters from Jotunheim telling you everything that's going on and you can keep me updated on things here, so it will be like I never left."

"Yes it will," Balder said, plainly, as he pulled back to talk with his sister. Sigyn chuckled mirthlessly at this, a grim smile on her face. Balder just shrugged, saying, "But I'll send you letters every day."

"You better," Sigyn threatened with a teasing grin.

Suddenly, a call rang over the clamor of the courtyard. "Riders, mount up!" The command hung, as everyone paused, silence filling the air. And then, the long moment ended and activity burst back into life; servants scrambling to pack last-minute items onto the wagon, stable boys scrambling to ready mounts, the coach drivers scrambling to their posts, while the travelers for the journey checked their packs one last time.

Sigyn sighed turning back to Balder, considering him for a moment before holding out her arms, offering him hug. He took it without a moment's hesitation, wrapping his arms about her once more. "I'll miss you, Balder. Look after Mother and Father for me and don't do anything stupid."

"_You_ don't do anything stupid either," Balder teased.

Sigyn laughed, saying, "I'll do my utmost best." She pulled away from him, mounting Sinir before turning to smile down at her brother. "I love you, Balder."

"I love you too, Sigyn," Balder replied, with a smile across his face and then he added, quite seriously, "You stay safe, okay? And don't do anything in Jotunheim without Fulla."

Sigyn rolled her eyes. "Why is it that you have so little faith in me? Thinking I'm going to insult the Jotuns with every little thing I do." Balder just grinned and shook his head, having no time to reply as the escort started off, riding through the great palace gates and into the city. The princess turned back, waving to her little brother, who returned with a sad wave.

She worried about Balder. He was bookish and sarcastic, not at all like Thor, who was cheery and straight-forward_. _Balder never wanted to be the emperor, though he would certainly make a very good one, and she worried that he would feel like he was never fully accepted because he was replacing the much-loved Prince Thor. Sigyn returned his smile with a reassuring one of her own before she glanced up at the top of the stairs to the entrance hall.

Odin and Frigga stood, arm-in-arm, watching her ride from the palace. The chances of her ever seeing them again were very slim and she felt her eyes sting with tears at the thought. She took a deep breath. She needed to be brave to face where she was going. Jotunheim culture was not for the weak; it held the mightiest, fiercest warriors in the highest regards. She supposed she was a warrior herself, fighting for peace between the two countries in her own way.

She raised a hand in farewell to her parents, smiling as best she could. She would be strong.

* * *

**A/N: **Balder, what would we do without Balder? Not have as many gray hairs, let me tell you. Besides that, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Leave a thought, question, or what-have-you about Sigyn's departure, Loki's ridiculous crown, the action packed chapter coming next (what kind of action? Well of the Loki and Sigyn variety, of course!), or what else that catches your fancy!


	9. The Road to Jotunheim

**Warning: **Language and Mim's sense of humor

**A/N: **Have a long chapter! (If anyone knows where the drinking song from the beginning is from, major kudos to you!)

* * *

**Chapter Nine—The Road to Jotunheim**

* * *

"_Hey ho! To the bottle I go! To heal my heart and drown my woe! But there still be many miles to go," _sang Volstagg, waving his arms as he conducted Fandral and some other soldiers of the escort in a drinking song. The escort had stopped at a small inn, the only one for many miles along the road, and most were now occupying the tavern.

Sigyn sat at a wooden table, a tankard of cider in her hands—she had refused all offers of alcohol—with her back to the great hearth that lit and warmed the room. She absently smiled at the antics of her friends, her head feeling blurry with drowsiness. They had only been traveling for five days and she already was exhausted. She was adamant about riding Sinir but she knew she would have to forsake her pride and ride in the coach for a time to avoid being saddle sore.

"May I join you?" asked Sif as she approached, finally extracting herself from the jovial singing that Volstagg was leading.

Sigyn nodded, mutely, waving her hand to the empty seat across from her. Sif settled in it, plopping down her own tankard of mead and pushing it away from her as she shifted in her chair. Glancing back over her shoulder at her companions, a grin flitted onto Sif's face. "I think that Volstagg is making progress with Fulla," Sif said. Sigyn raised a questioning eyebrow to the warrior maiden before she too looked over at Volstagg, who know was sitting next to a very embarrassed looking Fulla, at the bar counter, leading the men in yet another drinking song.

"Fandral hasn't given up yet, has he?" Sigyn questioned, not seeing the blond warrior amongst the others.

"No, he's attempting to salvage his dignity and come up with a plan to win Fulla over," Sif laughed before adding, "Which might be why he's not here and making a fool of himself by getting roaring drunk."

Sigyn snorted and shook her head, saying, "They'll all have horrid hangovers tomorrow if they keep up like this."

Sif shrugged. "There is not much a bucket of ice cold water strategically thrown at one while they sleep cannot do to cure a hangover." Sigyn chuckled, shaking her head, but offered no reply. Sif studied the princess for a moment as she nursed her mead once more. She had known Sigyn since her was still a child, both spending their childhoods in the palace gardens, but Sif had recently seen a change in the princess.

Sigyn was more reserved, taking on her role as a soon-to-be bride from a foreign land. Sif knew it also was in no small part to Thor's sudden absence in her life and the warrior woman often wondered—guilt weighing upon her conscious like the weight of the world—that she had only argued against Thor more, if Sigyn's fate could have been avoided. She would at least have had an elder brother to look to for support. Now, she was being pulled away from her family to live among savages. Sif scowled at this thought.

She still could not understand why Sigyn and Odin had agreed to this peace treaty; the peace treaty from the savage people that slain Theoric, Sigyn's best of friends, in the middle of a dusty road. The warrior aspect of her wanted to brandish her sword and charge for Jotunheim, to avenge her comrade's death for the sake of not only Sigyn but herself as well. Sif knew it was partly her own fault—if she hadn't allowed the girth strap of her saddle to so easily be slashed and she fell from her horse because of it, she might have been able to block the Jotun hunter's spear. Or if only Thor had not so easily convinced her.

"You and the Warriors Three aren't accompanying us beyond the border, are you?" Sigyn asked, breaking the silence that had stretched between them.

"No," Sif replied before pulling a grin onto her face. "The Emperor didn't think it wise for the group of warriors that attacked a Jotun to so soon return to the country, should someone recognize us."

Sigyn managed a thin smile at the joke, but she only managed it for a moment before it slipped from her face, her expression turning serious. Sif knew that the princess was weighed down by the foreboding thoughts of her new home. Taking a deep breath, the warrior maiden asked, "Sigyn, if I may, I was just wondering about your thoughts on Jotunheim."

"What of my thoughts?" Sigyn asked rhetorically, shrugging as she did. "It is to be my new home and this, I cannot change."

Sif's brow furrowed at this but she remained silent. Sigyn had resigned herself to her fate and Sif couldn't help feel like this is the bravest thing anyone could have done in the princess' position.

* * *

"And, once more," Ull announced to the small group that gathered together at their usual table in the century's mess hall, all four with wide grins on their faces. Ever since Thor defeated Bragi, the three companions found themselves with the addition of Bragi in their company becoming increasingly frequent until he was accepted as a member of the group. He still was cocky and arrogant, but Ull and Hod enjoyed reminding Bragi of his defeat at Thor's hands and teasing him on his shortcomings with a bow and arrow, which that seemed to work for them all. Currently, Hod and Thor were engaged in an eating contest and had only concluded the latest match. "Thor wins this round!"

"You really should just admit defeat, Hod," said Bragi with a grin as he ate his own plate of refried beans. Hod shot a glare to Bragi, looking a little green while doing so. After polishing six plates of the famous Aesir century refried beans, it was astonishing that both Hod and Thor had managed to keep everything down.

Ull cackled at this, easily ducking away from the punch Hod aimed at his head, while Thor, grinned victoriously. "Well, what trouble are you four getting into?" asked a familiar voice and all four of the friends turned to boisterously greet the red headed woman that had spoken as she approached the table, grinning back at them.

"Saga! You have just arrived to witness my triumph over Hod!" Thor greeted her, his booming voice cheerful and full of enthusiasm.

She rolled her eyes at the four legionnaires as she slid into the stone bench next to Hod, eyeing him somewhat warily as he still was a vivid shade of green. Deciding it best not to ask, she turned to the others. "I have just managed to get away from the palace; it's been absolute chaos up there for the past few days."

"And you came to visit us? Ah, hear that? She really does care!" quipped Ull, Saga only glaring at him as he was seated out of arm's length so she could not hit him on the shoulder for his remark. Thor gaffed at his friend's quip while Bragi grinned in amusement. Hod seemed to be more focused on calming his churning stomach than anything that was being said about him.

"Are you going to let me tell you my news or not?" Saga snapped. The others shrugged nonchalantly, their attention on her nonetheless. Sighing at them, she continued on, "A peace treaty arrived from Jotunheim. One of the terms of the agreement was a marriage between King Loki and an Asgardian princess. Since Princess Sigyn is the only one, she is currently on the journey north."

"Really?" Bragi asked, leaning forward with interested. Thor did his best to school his expression into one of mild interest, though on the inside he felt like he needed to kick something very hard and yell a string of profanities at every unfortunate bystander that happened to be near. His sister, his baby sister, who he had always protected from harm, was being sent to the north to marry a _Jotun. _And not just _any_ Jotun; the king of Jotunheim. And no one had sent word, not even a whisper of rumor had reached his ears before her departure.

He would most definitely never see his sister again—his chances of traveling to Jotunheim again where slim to none—and it was a hard-fought battle to remain composed. Despite his name being Thor, same as the exiled prince, no one had yet to discover his true identity. Plenty of commoner boys were named Thor in honor of the prince and it was only a rumor that the ex-crown prince had been stripped of his title, being considered mere gossip by the common folk. Thor suspected Saga knew what his true heritage was, but he was grateful to her for keeping it secret.

Saga nodded in response to Bragi's inquiry, saying, "Indeed. The terms were to push the borders of Asgard to Ifing River—"

"What?" were the cries of surprise that rang out through the mess hall, all four of the men staring at Saga in varying degrees of shock and disbelief.

"You heard. The borders are to be pushed back to as they were one hundred and fifty years ago," Saga said, not completely enjoying being thusly interrupted. "And a marriage to be made between the two kingdoms to secure peace."

"And the Emperor accepted this?" Thor asked, with as much interest as any common legionnaire would.

Saga nodded. "The Emperor readily accepted it. He is tired of the ongoing border conflict, though I think it is mostly because of the toll it is beginning to take on the royal treasury." Bragi snorted in amusement at this. "In any case, he had to accept. You see, King Loki gave an ultimatum; accept the treaty or go to full war with Jotunheim."

This made all their eyebrows raise. "He threatened Asgard with total war? But we could easily squash Jotunheim!" exclaimed Ull, grinning at the thought.

"I am not so sure, Ull," Thor said, shaking his head. "It is true that the legions of Asgard are much more vast than that of Jotunheim, but the Jotuns have managed to defend most of their realm against us for one hundred and fifty years, and that was only the southern warlords. Asgard would win a war, if it came to it, but it would leave Asgard in ruin as much as it would Jotunheim."

"Well said, Thor," nodded Hod, approvingly, though he promptly closed his mouth afterward, seeming to regret speaking already with his face darkening to a curious shade of jade green.

"Wait," Bragi said after a brief pause. "Isn't Princess Sigyn adopted? She's not a _real_ Asgardian princess so wouldn't the Jotuns be insulted if they found this out?"

Before Thor could open his mouth and say that Sigyn _was_ a part of the royal family and that she was a _real_ Asgardian princess, adopted or not, Saga shot him a warning look and he held his tongue. Instead, she said, "That _is_ true, but King Loki knows this. He also knows that she is the only daughter of the Emperor, adopted or not, and he willingly accepts her hand, knowing that she is a full member of the royal family." Thor nodded approvingly to this, deciding it was rather well-put.

"Well, in any case," Ull said with a shrug. "I would not want to be in her shoes. Honestly imagine, marrying a Jotun who you never—"

Ull got no farther in his observation as Captain Foreseti had entered into the century's mess hall, ordering that all gather their full gear because they were going on a fourteen mile march through the night in their armor for that evening's training. If it was at all possible, Hod's face got an even darker shade of green.

* * *

Sigyn drew in a sharp breath between her teeth as she slid down from Sinir, stretching her legs. She was a skilled enough equestrian, having gone on many horseback riding ventures outside of the city walls back in Idavoll, but free riding through the countryside was much different from the monotonous traveling north.

Two weeks, nearly three, they had been on the road, stopping in the evenings to bed down in inns or—as they entered into the dense forests and no inns were about—in encampments along the road. Sigyn had spent much of the first week in her saddle, though after her legs became so chaffed that they throbbed when she was simply lying down, she had forsaken her dignity and road in the carriage with Fulla, who proved to be entertaining company. Fulla was a mild-mannered girl with a shy personality but was easy to laugh nonetheless.

Sigyn had managed to coax the timid maid to ride with her on horseback, after the princess' legs were healed which was later into the second week of travel, but Fulla soon returned to the safety of the carriage where neither Volstagg or Fandral could ride beside her for hours on end, showering her with flattery and compliments. Of course, Sigyn often took pity on her poor maid but both warriors had become crafty in their flirting, making sure to accompany the maid when Sigyn was riding with a different part of the escort so no one could shoo them off. Sif was no help as she was used to her friend's antics and didn't find them nearly as embarrassing as Fulla did.

Currently, they had stopped for the noontime meal, Sigyn walking with a slight limp from being saddle sore from the morning's journey. The men of the escort made quick business of turning a small clearing off the side of the road into a dining area; a fire pit being dug for the cook and logs being dragged from the surrounding forest to offer seating.

Plopping down with a sigh onto a nearby log, Sigyn observed the members of her escort go about their tasks. Catching sight of her maid, the princess smiled and waved her over, patting the empty space on the log beside her. "Come sit with me, Fulla," Sigyn said.

The maid, still seeming startled whenever Sigyn addressed her, nodded meekly and moved to sit next to the red headed princess. Sigyn regarded her for a moment before returning to her observation to the noontime meal being made. "Are we anywhere near your home, Fulla?" she finally asked, wanting to break the silence.

Fulla shook her head, saying, "We're two days' ride to the east of my village."

Sigyn nodded to this before asking, deciding she might as well take the opportunity to learn more about her companion, seeing as they would be spending increasingly more time together as they drew closer to Utgard, "So what brought you to Idavoll then?"

"Well," Fulla began slowly, looking embarrassed. "I was sent by my family to work at a bakery owned by a family friend to earn some extra coin." Sigyn knew what she was carefully avoiding saying; Fulla wasn't a maid but rather a bakery hand but the princess preferred it that way. She had been surrounded all her life by maids that tutted at her for dirtying her play clothes or ladies-in-waiting that jumped to please her mother and gain favor, bettering their own social status. Sigyn preferred the regular country girl that worked to make an honest living over the others.

Sigyn smiled at that, saying enthusiastically, "That's amazing! So you make bread and pastries and everything?"

Fulla nodded again, looking abashed at this though she couldn't help a proud smile to stretch across her face. "I made the pastries with the strawberry fillings. That's how the Queen took notice of me."

"Oh?" prompted Sigyn, encouraging her maid to continue.

"One of the Queen's attendants was a regular customer of our bakery and one day took a strawberry pastry to the Queen. She liked it so much she sent for me to come to the palace. I was scared stiff, but the Queen smiled and gestured me forward. She asked me questions of my work and I mutely shook or nodded my head, petrified of saying something wrong before the Queen. It was only when I was leaving that she complimented me one last time and I finally managed to squeak out my thanks. When she heard my northern accent, the Queen was delighted and asked me to be your maid, Your Highness," Fulla explained, her shyness slowly melting away as she recounted her tale, soon taking on a storyteller's voice and Sigyn couldn't help but be intrigued by her story. Fulla had a surprisingly captivating voice for storytelling.

"Please," Sigyn said, "Just call me Sigyn. I'm soon going to be surrounded by everyone calling me Your Highness all the time; I need at least _one_ person to remind me that my name is Sigyn."

Fulla grinned shyly, her discomfort eased, if only slightly, and she joked, unsure of herself, "And then they'll be calling you Your Majesty."

Sigyn laughed at this, surprised at Fulla's jest. The maid grinned back; apparently relieved her joke was well received. After a pause of Sigyn calming herself, a serious frown tugged down at the corners of her mouth and she said, "Which brings us to why we're on the road north. Fulla, how much do you know of the new king of Jotunheim?"

Fulla took in a deep breath, thinking, before she said with slow, measured words, "I saw a brief glimpse of him. Once." Sigyn raised an eyebrow, surprised at this, but silently wanting for her to continue on.

"It was when I was still a girl of fourteen. My family's farm is not far from a Jotun village and we usually go into town every Saturday to sell our surplus vegetables. One Saturday, we arrived with our donkey and cart full of cabbages to find the main street of the village, usually bare and unremarkable, filled with bright banners and people crowding around. I climbed onto the bench of our cart to get a better view of the festivities and that was when I saw him. He was astride a great black stallion and over his shoulders was draped a great emerald cloak—the color of Utgard—and his chest was bare with Markings, a true Jotun noble. I could not see his face all that well, but his hair was jet black and smoothed back. Word was that he was riding to the wedding of Karl and Kerling, two heirs of wealthy families in town."

Sigyn nodded, at least knowing her husband's hair color. "I have heard, since then, that the prin—king, I mean, has grown very handsome," Fulla added, studying the princess' expression.

Taking in a deep breath, Sigyn said with a slight shrug, "It does not matter if the King is a fair sight or not, I am to marry him either way. The wedding ceremony is the most pressing matter, so tell me, what _is_ a Jotun wedding? Balder mentioned that there's a complicated dance."

It took a moment for Fulla to realize that Balder was the name of the younger prince—she was used to referring to him as 'Your Highness'—before a grim expression settled onto her face. "I have been to many Jotun weddings and the dance is indeed _very _complicated. It's the same steps for every marriage ceremony, but they are complicated and take years of practice. Typically, Jotun women start taking their wedding dance practices when they turn eight-years-old."

Sigyn could feel herself pale. Eight years old? She was almost to her eighteenth name day, she had to make up a whole ten years worth of dance lessons in an extremely short amount of time. She didn't know how long the preparations for the wedding would take, but it certainly was not going to be _ten_ _years_. Probably more like _ten days._

"I can teach you the beginning part, when you are dancing towards your husband," Fulla offered, seeing the panic on the princess' face.

"Thank you, Fulla. Anything you could offer would be helpful," Sigyn nodded.

"Soups ready!" called Fandral. Sigyn and Fulla glanced up to see the blond warrior, metal bowls balanced on his arms, making his way towards the two of them, a bright grin on his face. "Care for onion soup, ladies?" he inquired as he reached them.

"Yes please, thank you, Fandral," Sigyn replied for Fulla and herself, the maid's face having turned a deep shade of red as she ducked her head. Sigyn, now having seen how the maid acted when she wasn't being embarrassed by the warriors, frowned at Fandral for his obvious flirting that made Fulla so uncomfortable and managed to politely shoo him on his way, leaving the two women to eat their noontime meal.

"You know," Sigyn began, after having slurped a large mouthful of soup in a very unprincesslike fashion but not particularly caring. "Fandral and Volstagg, they have a bet on which of them can woo you before we get to the Jotun border."

Fulla's head hurriedly raised in surprise at this, turning her large brown eyes on the princess, shock clear in them. "What?" she squeaked. Sigyn chuckled at this and then proceeded to explain the whole bet between the two warriors, delighted by her friend's reaction and laughing along with her when Fulla finally overcame her embarrassment and found the whole situation as highly amusing as Sigyn did. Yes, the princess decided, she rather liked her new maid.

* * *

Sigyn rode with Fulla at her side, both women riding at the front of the escort. Fulla studied the princess as the red headed woman kept a close watch on the forests that surrounded the path. "What, exactly, are you looking for, if I may ask?" inquired Fulla after a time, having decided her curiosity had grown too great for her to ignore.

"Heimdall," Sigyn replied, as if this explained everything. Fulla blinked, her confusion not in the least bit lessened. Sigyn, noticing the pause of silence, tore her gaze from the forests to raise a questioning eyebrow at her maid. "Do you not know of Heimdall?"

"I'm afraid not," Fulla replied, meekly.

Sigyn seemed genuinely surprised by this but proceeded to explain, "Heimdall is Asgard's greatest warrior. He stands guard in the forests of Asgard one mile south of the Ifing River. He is the first line of defense should enemy forces invade the realm from the north and he is said to have golden eyes that predict the future. I think we are near to his post and if he appears to us then—"

"Then I have seen the future of your quest," finished a rumbling voice. Both women whipped their heads about, sharply drawing their mounts to a halt as a great warrior stood before them in the road. The rest of the escort lurched to a stop behind the princess and maid, and Sigyn was vaguely aware of the Warriors Three and Sif riding up alongside of her and Fulla. Heimdall was as the tales had described; a great warrior in bright, golden armor that gleamed. His eyes were the same color, though they held a quality of wisdom and deep, untold secrets in their irises.

"Greetings Heimdall the Great," Sigyn said with a polite smile, bowing slightly in her saddle.

Heimdall did not return her greeting, simply fixing his gaze upon the princess and saying, "Your brother passed when he was still a prince and when he still rode with the Crimson Hawk." Sigyn trained her face from the frown she instinctively wanted to tug down her lips. "But your fate was and is not connected to theirs. I send my blessing with you to Jotunheim, young queen to-be."

Sigyn blinked, not knowing what to say in response to this but Heimdall did not wait for her to do so as he had already turned his attention to Volstagg and Fandral, both who looked ashamed of themselves under his gaze. The golden warrior simply said, "Neither of these men wins this bet. The true winner is a man that will gladly accept an action he was being previously forced to do." Sif, knowing exactly what bet Heimdall spoke of, cackled at this while Hogun seemed mildly amused by it all and Fulla and Sigyn exchanged grins. Fulla knew the second part of Heimdall's comment was a prophecy of the man that would 'win the bet,' the man she would fall in love with, but his words were too strange and no man fit their description. Shaking her head of these thoughts, Fulla glanced over at the two warriors that had originally made the bet.

Both Fandral and Volstagg looked as if they wished to protest, which caused a small giggle to bubble up through Fulla's throat, but Heimdall did not allow them as he said, "I will allow you to pass, this future has been set. Go with my blessing."

And with that, the golden warrior seemed to disappear into the shadows cast by the looming trees of the forest. Sigyn blinked at the place he had stood only moments before, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth, before urging Sinir along. Heimdall spoke of prophecies and the future, but her present was much more looming, especially when they were almost to the border of Jotunheim and the escort led by the royal advisor. She could not think of herself as a queen yet, not only because the thought was petrifying but because she had to deal with one obstacle at a time.

* * *

"This is the absolute _last_ time I go retrieve princesses from the border for you," Mim loudly complained to Loki, the two men waiting in the saddle along the Asgardian and Jotunheim border—the new one, the Ifing River—on the Jotun side of the great bridge that spanned the rapids of the river. Loki glanced over at his friend with a grin on his face. The king, looking unrecognizable in the hard leather of Jotun armor draping over him and an iron helm covering his raven black hair and face, was astride a fidgety dun mare. He loathed having to ride any other horse than Gyllir, since none were as agile or fleet, but he needed to for the sake of appearance.

As king, it would be against custom for him to ride to the border to escort the princess to Utgard, where he was to have a grand welcoming for her. Loki, who not only would not be able to bare Mim's smugness of being able to meet the princess before he did and also was anxious to meet his bride to-be, had decided to ride with his friend disguised as a common guard. The armor made him almost unrecognizable—Mim even took a moment to realize who he was—though his green eyes inevitably gave him away. Despite Sigyn not knowing who he was, it gave his worries some relief that he'd at least be riding alongside the woman for three days before he was to ride ahead of the company to ready Utgard for the princess' arrival.

"Honestly, Mim, you'd think I had you ferrying princesses every other day," Loki replied, not worried about the other guards knowing his true identity. Each and every one of them was a sworn warrior to the Jotun throne and would take any and all secrets of their sovereign king with them to their graves.

Mim made a low, incoherent noise in the back of his throat before saying, "I still don't see why you wanted to come along. I mean, if Thiazi caught you, he'd probably make sure you are incapable of producing heirs." Loki scowled at his friend and his implement, but couldn't help but concede to himself that he was right. Thiazi was the upholder of all traditions and ancient rites of Jotunheim culture and the king meeting his foreign bride before the wedding ceremony would be a major violation of his morals. It was a fortunate thing that the warlord had been called way to his stronghold of Thrymheim to take care of a small problem with bandits in the mountains and was not in Utgard to notice Loki's brief absence.

"And then he'd be tried for treason against the royal family," Loki replied, chuckling.

Mim grinned, adding, "Or lack thereof." The two young man cackled, delighted with their innuendoes, before they fell suddenly silent, their eyes fixed onto the other bank of the river, where the northern road curved about a bend of trees and out of sight.

Coming about the bend was an escort, all dressed in the loose, exposing clothes of the Asgardians. The fabric of their tunics glinted in the sun. All their clothes were dyed the bright colors of the south or remained pristinely white, the mark of a person of privilege. Warriors rode at the flanks of the company, surrounding two women astride palfreys, a fine carriage, and two wagons of supplies. They were a grand sight in their glinting armor—despite being travel worn—and Mim casted a glance over to his friend. Loki's face was set solemnly, already playing the part of the stoic, unfazed Jotun warrior.

"Time for the fun to begin, eh?" Mim questioned, his voice held none of its usual mirth. Loki made no reply, his eyes simply flicking back to gaze as the Asgardians that now clattered across the wide wooden bridge that spanned the Ifing River, a slight frown fixed on his face. Mim did not say anything to this, knowing Loki not only wished to maintain his silence for appearance's sake but also was too intent on this first meeting of Jotuns and Asgardians on friendly terms in nearly one hundred and fifty years being carried off without a hitch. It was vital to the treaty's success. The most minor of mistakes could lead to the total war that Jotunheim and Asgard would both be obligated to.

Nudging his roan gelding forward, Mim rode up to the edge of the bridge; the very edge of the Jotun border. He wore the deep navy blue and stormy gray of Gastropnir, his cloak long as it fell from his shoulders. Mim looked every bit a royal advisor and Loki couldn't help but feeling a slight bit of satisfaction from this. The Asgardians may look exotic in their bright colors, but his Jotuns looked powerful with their intricate Markings and furs.

Commanding the attention of both the Jotun guard and the Asgardians, Mim said, acting the part of royal advisor, "Your Highness, Princess Sigyn of Asgard, proud member of the house of Idavoll and the only daughter to the Emperor Odin and his Queen, Frigga, we humbly welcome you to the realm of Jotunheim, protected by his Majesty, King Loki, son of Laufey, proud descendant of the house of Utgard and protector of the north, to be made his wife and queen. I am the royal advisor, Mìmir of Gastropnir, son of the Lady Menglad. I come bearing the protection of the king," Mim paused as he turned to wave a hand at the Jotun guard, sending a conspiring wink to Loki, "to ensure your safety as you journey to Utgard."

When Mim had finished, the Asgardian warriors parted and a young woman, astride a palomino palfrey, rode forward to present herself before Mim. Loki immediately knew who this woman was and he couldn't help staring at her in a way that only a man should look at his wedded wife. She was dressed in a loose, white stola—a sign of her high rank—and her hair was a fiery red. It was unlike any color Loki had seen before, her hair like flames as they curled around her in waves, around her face and down her back. Her face was a fair sight; her nose delicate and spattered with freckles from the sun, her chin stubborn, her cheekbones regal, and her brow slim and perfectly curved. He couldn't help noticing the bare skin that the stola reveled and thinking what remarkably perfect legs she had.

She inclined her head to Mim, saying, "My humblest thanks to you, Mìmir of Gastropnir and royal advisor to his Majesty, King Loki. I accept your offer of protection with great gratitude. It would be my honor, as the intended bride to his Majesty, for you to escort me to my husband." This being said, she nudged her palfrey forward to ride up beside Mim, who turned his own mount to ride alongside her. As Loki expected, half of her escort's guards turned and did not continue on with the wagons and carriage, leaving less than ten Asgardians.

Loki remained motionless as he watched the departing Asgardians return to their side of the Ifing River while the other warriors moved alongside the wagons as they creaked the rest of the way across the bridge and officially onto Jotun soil. Loki's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of four departing warriors that looked eerily familiar. He could not quite see them perfectly, from not only the distance but their golden armor that covered their facial features, but he was fairly sure that the slimmest of the four was a woman.

His eyes widened and suddenly the memories flashed through his mind. A woman warrior falling from her saddle after he had cut loose her saddle strap. The Crimson Hawk that had his hunting spear driven through his stomach. Why were they here? Did the Asgardians really plan on murdering the Jotuns under the pretense of going through with the treaty? Did they plan on assassinating him? But no, they wouldn't have any inkling that one of the guards was the king in disguise. That would only mean they planned on killing the man most important to the king that rode to meet the princess. Loki quickly whipped his head about, searching frantically for Mim.

His vision was blocked by his fellow Jotun guards that fell into the escort of Asgardians, taking up their ranks as they protected the princess' wagons and carriage. Trying to swallow his growing panic, Loki dug his heels into the sides of his mount, making the horse neigh in surprise before springing forward, dashing for the front of the escort. Loki swiveled his head about to the left and right, searching for his friend and hoping he wasn't too late.

And then, he caught sight of him, talking casually with the princess riding beside him at the very front of the escort. Loki breathed a slight sigh of relief before he urged his horse forward again, startling the other Asgardian woman's mount as he blurred past. He stopped short of Mim, saying a hurried, "Your Grace."

Mim, turning his smile upon Loki, said quite jovially, "Ah, so you've finally decided to come up and ride with us then?"

Loki bit back a seething remark, but at this point the princess was blinking at him in question, and he had to rein in his anger. Of course Mim wasn't injured, he had been riding alongside the princess, chatting animatedly at her, Loki mentally berated himself. The Asgardians wanted peace as much as the Jotuns did, that was why they would send their only princess. And, even if the Asgardians tried to send those four warriors to murder him or Mim, the Jotuns in the escort outnumbered the Asgardians three to one, and that wasn't even factoring in the warriors stationed within the forest just off the roads.

Besides, he seriously doubted the Asgardians had even realized they had assaulted the heir to the Jotun throne. Loki knew that there would have been diplomatic action and a lengthy formal apology from Idavoll had that been the case. After all, it was the act of a small band of warriors—warriors that now did not dare to set foot onto Jotun soil but rather returned to Asgard—and not the Emperor, Loki reminded himself. Suddenly, he felt foolish for his overreaction.

Forcing a smile, he said, "I am here to protect you, your Grace, and her Highness."

Mim, looking pleased that Loki had decided to ride alongside them, even if was under the pretenses of guarding the two higher ranking members of the escort, turned to Sigyn, saying, "Loptr is a dear friend of mine. He's the best guard around, though sarcastic and grumpy most of the time and just plain disagreeable the rest."

Loki restrained himself from smacking Mim on the back of his head for not only calling him disagreeable but making his fake name be the ancient Jotish form of Loki—thankfully very few spoke Jotish anymore, even in Jotunheim, as Common Tongue was now the prominent language. Sigyn laughed at Mim's explanation, before turning to Loki saying, "Do not worry, I will not let any opinions affect my own opinion of you."

"Thank you, your Highness," Loki replied, lowering his voice for his guise and respectfully diverting his eyes. He knew his face would grow a deep red if he looked at her smooth, elegant, and very exposed neck for too long.

"Princess Sigyn," Mim began, deciding it was up to him to keep this conversation afloat, "What are your thoughts of Jotunheim thus far?"

"Well, Lord Mìmir, I _have_ been here but ten minutes," Sigyn replied, lightly with a small chuckle.

Mim seemed delighted by her sarcastic sense of humor, saying with a laugh of his own, "Yes, well, _besides_ that."

Sigyn grinned at Mim, her eyes briefly flicking over to Loki, before saying, "I suppose I have yet to form much of an opinion. Though I suspect it shall take me a time to become accustomed to bare chests."

"And we shall take some time to become accustomed to bar legs and arms," Loki immediately replied. As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he wished he had not said them. He wished he could take them back or at least that he could now become invisible. He was a common guard, not a king. He had no right to speak to a princess—no matter her nationality—in such manner.

To his surprise, Sigyn flushed herself, saying with a nervous laugh, "I am to change into my Jotun clothes tomorrow morning. They are not yet finished."

"No, your Highness, I meant no disrespect—" Loki began, hurriedly, hoping to mend his blunder. Mim seemed highly amused by the whole exchange.

"No, you're right," Sigyn interrupted. "I am being disrespectful to your culture and this treaty I am being sent for. My new dresses should be completed in time for my arrival to Utgard and meeting King Loki."

Mim sent Loki a conspiring grin at this before he turned to Sigyn, easily changing the topic of conversation, "Ah yes, our good King. I'm sure he'll like you."

Sigyn, gladly accepting the change in topic, grinned eagerly as this, asking, "You really do think so? What is he like?"

"Well, Loptr would probably be able to tell you better than I possibly could. He's the king's personal guard, you see," Mim said, drawing Loki efficiently back into the conversation. Loki narrowed his eyes at his so-called best friend. He knew what game Mim was playing at and he did not like it in the least. Mim was guiding the conversation to include Loki—despite him only being a guard—and not intervening when things became awkward for both him and the princess.

"Yes, I do," Loki replied, shortly, trying to communicate that he wasn't interested in talking any longer.

But, Mim wasn't so easily deterred, turning to Sigyn and saying, "See, I told you he was an unpleasant fellow." Turning back to Loki, he prodded, "Go on then, Loptr, tell the princess of his Majesty."

"Well," Loki began slowly, choosing his words carefully and honesely, now dearly wishing he could thoroughly thrash Mim. "He likes to project himself as a cold, powerful man but he really likes to laugh and joke with his friends. He often spends time in his personal study when he wishes to think or be alone."

Biting her lip, Loki saw that Sigyn was unsure of herself before she finally asked as if she wasn't sure she should be, "Do _you_ think he will like me, then?"

There was a long moment as Loki considered her, aware of her cheeks becoming red under his gaze, before he said, "Yes. Yes, I do." Her eyes—for the first time he noticed they were a stunning blue—caught his. They locked for a single moment, his eyes an intense emerald while hers were the color of the clearest of skies. They remained that way for what felt like a lifetime, but in reality was only a mere second, before she quickly glanced away.

Mim, watching the exchange in silence, then chose that opportune moment to strike up a monologue of his duties as royal advisor that both his riding companions barely listened to. The rest of the journey that day Loki spent in silence, carefully avoiding the gaze of the princess even when she addressed him.

* * *

Sigyn sighed as her wearily muscles found relief as she lay down upon her pallet in her private tent that evening. It had been an exhausting day on the road, not only from her meeting with Heimdall and finally travelling into Jotunheim but also keeping up a polite conversation with the royal advisor and his guard for the journey. Her cheeks blushed a deep red at the thought of her one slip up and Loptr's quick challenge of it. She had been careless in her joking, conveying herself as disrespectful to the Jotun people and culture. She was thankful that Mìmir only seemed amused by this and Loptr took no great offense to it.

She shook her head as her mind's eye filled with the image of Loptr. She would be lying to herself if she said that she wasn't attracted to him. He certainly was handsome, of what she could see of his face from beneath his Jotun helmet, and she had more than once caught herself staring at his leanly muscled arms and torso covered in armor. His emerald eyes seemed to match his personality and wit in an indescribable way that Sigyn would not be able to explain, even if she thought deeply on it. But, he was king's guard, a man that would stand at her husband's side and protect him from assassins while she sat at the king's side. They would be seeing much of each other and she could not afford to develop any sort of emotional attachments to him, especially with the success of the treaty resting on her shoulders.

There was a soft rustle and Sigyn sat up on her pallet to see Fulla closing the tent's flap behind her as she entered, a small tray of food balanced in her hands. "Good evening to you, your Hi—Sigyn," Fulla greeted, catching herself. She had taken many reminders, but she was beginning to become accustom to referring to the princess as Sigyn, at least in private.

"Evening to you too, Fulla," Sigyn replied, patting a cushion near her pallet for Fulla to sit in as she sat up on her own pallet.

Fulla gratefully sunk onto the offered cushion, placing the food between the two of them. Ir was a simple meal of a loaf of bread with slices of smoked ham and sharp cheese arranged on either side, which both women eagerly beginning to help themselves to the meal. They ate in silence before Fulla spoke asking, "What's your opinion on the Lord Mìmir, then?"

Sigyn raised an eyebrow at Fulla, shrugging as she said, "I like him well enough. He is easy to talk with."

"And what of the other man?" Fulla said, after swallowing a bite.

Sigyn's face turned a deep red immediately at the mention. "Loptr? Yes, he's the king's personal guard. I suppose that shows how much the king wishes to ensure the success of this treaty."

Fulla raised an eyebrow at this, studying the princess' face for a brief moment before nodding her agreement, deciding to let the topic drop. She knew Sigyn well enough that the princess very rarely became flustered as she was now, so Fulla decided it was best not to pry. Instead she said, "Lord Mìmir was saying that we shall arrive at Utgard within four day's time."

"Oh? Did he mention if there would be a welcoming ceremony?" Sigyn questioned, grateful for the change in topic. She could not even nurture a slight infatuation for Loptr, despite his remarkable eyes and lean build.

"Yes, he said that King Loki is going to be conducting the ceremony. He also said that you shall need a veil for your arrival," Fulla explained before adding, "Which reminds me, your dresses are finish. I'll bring them in tomorrow and teach you how to put it on."

"Is it really that complicated?" questioned Sigyn, with a chuckle. Fulla widened her eyes and nodded solemnly, making Sigyn pull a disgusted face. The two girls blinked at each other for a moment before bursting into peals of giggles; not because it was particularly amusing but because both were so worn from their travels and laughter brought relief to their weary minds.

* * *

Sigyn shifted on Sinir's back, trying to situate herself in her too small saddle. With the thick skirts she know wore, it made it incredibly uncomfortable to ride astride—Fulla had informed her that Jotun women rode side saddle, much to Sigyn's distain—and most of the morning's journey had been spent fidgeting in the saddle and making Sinir thoroughly annoyed with her.

"Sorry," Sigyn mumbled, apologetically to her palomino mare.

"What's her name, your Highness?" questioned a voice from off to her right. Sigyn nearly jumped from her saddle at the sound, not only because she wasn't expecting it but also because it was the one man she had been attempting to avoid all morning.

She forced a smile onto her face and turned to meet the intense green gaze of Loptr, ignoring the immediate red flush that sprang to her cheeks and the way her heart fluttered at the sight of him. She berated herself for this, that she would react this way to a man that she just met only because he had a handsome face. She cringed as this would lead to the thought of another warrior that loved her and had known her longer than she could even remember.

Theoric had loved her, a love that had grown and been nurtured through years of friendship. He had always been there for Sigyn yet she never returned his feelings, not simply because she did not realize he had any for her—when she learned the truth she did not realize her attraction towards him—rather, she felt a pressing, suffocating guilt that it was his unrequited feelings that lead to his death. It certainly wasn't because he wasn't attractive, as he was, he simply didn't strike Sigyn in that way. That way that Loptr instantly seemed to.

"Her name's Sinir," replied Sigyn. Loptr rode by her side, astride his own dun mare, and was sending an appeasing eye over the palomino mare.

"She's quite a beauty," Loptr observed, adding, "She seems to trust you and is patient with you, despite your squirming."

Sigyn blinked at him, silent for a moment. She caught the briefest flashes of a teasing grin before the guard seemed to remember his place and his facial expression turned neutral. Sigyn studied his face for a moment before braving to ask, "What of your horse?"

"This mare is not my own," Loptr said, slowly, as if judging the weight of every word before he spoke them. "My horse is a pitch black stallion that runs like the wind itself."

"And how did a guard come by such a horse?" Sigyn asked, her own teasing smile across her face but genuinely curious. She tried to ignore the nagging voice of reason that she should stop her conversation with him now, that she should wish him a good day and join Mìmir and Fulla at the front of the escort. But, she effectively shoved that nagging voice into the back of her mind, instead focusing on Loptr.

At her question, Loptr's face turned red and he said, "W-well…"

Sigyn furrowed her eyebrows, saying hurriedly, "I didn't mean to imply you stole it, pardon me."

Loptr blinked at her for a moment, as if surprised by the conclusion she drew, before he said, cordially, "You aren't at fault, your Highness. It is a fair question to be asked. My horse was a gift from my father. I raised him from a colt and trained him myself."

"That's amazing," remarked Sigyn with a wide grin. She was making a fool of herself and she knew it. She was acting like a lovesick fool, as far as she was concerned. Balder would tease her mercilessly if he could see her now.

Loptr offered no reply, simply studying Sigyn's smiling expression before he turned his gaze back to the road and forest around them. The princess opened her mouth, trying to think of something to say to him but realized she had nothing _to_ say. She simply found her mind a complete blank canvas, like Loptr had somehow bewitched her thoughts into stopping. Glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, Sigyn briefly wished that King Loki was like his guard, if only in some small way. She really wouldn't mind looking into those stunning green eyes every day.

She hurriedly shook her head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Balder sternly ordering her to not act like a fool. Loptr blinked at her for this but the princess resolutely ignored him, instead urging Sinir along the road, towards where Mìmir rode alongside Fulla, deciding she was going to avoid Loptr, his emerald eyes, and firmly ignore any attraction she ever had to him.

* * *

**A/N: **Before anyone asks, I want to explain Sigyn and Loki's feelings for each other. They both are very attractive people (well, we know Loki is but he considers Sigyn exotic with her red hair) and they are already beginning to find each other amusing. But, there's more to this than just 'love at first sight,' since that's just too easy. But, more on that later. For now, thank you for reading and I hoped you enjoyed! Leave a comment, thought, or what-have-you!


	10. The King's Bride

**Warnings: **None?

**A/N:** I'm sure you don't want to hear my excuses for not updating, so on with the chapter!

* * *

**Chapter Ten—The King's Bride**

* * *

"I expect you to arrive an hour before noontime in two day's time," Loki was saying to Mim as the two stood away from the escort as they took their noontime meal, Loki holding the reins of his mare, ready to climb into the saddle and ride for Utgard with all speed.

Mim rolled his eyes at Loki's nagging tone, saying, "Honestly, you're beginning to sound like my mother."

Loki glared at his friend, looking like he wished to retort but thought better of it when his emerald eyes flicked to gaze beyond Mim. The king frowned before saying, "I'll take my leave. Don't do anything stupid, Mim." With that, Loki had vaulted onto his mount and spurred her forward, urging her into a gallop that sent a cloud of dust up and into Mim's face.

Coughing, Mim turned away from road to find that Sigyn had approached him from behind. That must have been the reason for Loki's hasty departure. Mim fought the temptation to snicker, deciding Sigyn's resulting confusion would only lead to an awkward explanation on his part. "Ah, hello princess. Did you enjoy your meal?" questioned Mim, a sunny smile across his face.

"Was that Loptr?" questioned Sigyn, ignoring Mim's greeting and instead peering beyond his shoulder at the retreating back of Loki.

"Oh, yes, it was," Mim said, making his voice as airy as possible before he explained, "I sent him ahead of us to deliver a message to the King that we will be arriving within two day's time. Sometime before noon, if I remember correctly." Loki would have given him a square punch in the shoulder for that comment, making Mim very glad his friend was already well out of hearing range.

"Oh," was Sigyn's simple reply, her expression betraying her disappointment at his departure.

Mim's face adopted a rather peevish grin as he asked, "Why the sad face, your Highness?"

"No reason," Sigyn replied with a distracted shrug before her eyes fixed on Mim and a teasing grin spread across her face, "He just was the best company this escort had to offer."

"Such words, such insults!" Mim declared dramatically as he clutched his chest as though he was wounded, making Sigyn laugh at his antics. "They stab me straight through my very heart!" Before Sigyn could reply, Mim caught sight of Fulla as she passed by and he hurriedly told the princess, "If you'll excuse me, your Highness, I must go speak with yonder fair maiden."

"Be off with you then, you rogue," Sigyn replied, around laughs. Giving her a brief bow, casting a wink at Sigyn over his shoulder before he turned to the maiden he hurried to catch up with. Sigyn shook her head at the dark haired man, watching with slight jealously. She was happy for Fulla, who seemed to finally find a man that didn't make her so embarrassed that she was incapable of coherent speech when he addressed her, but she couldn't help wishing her and Fulla's places were traded. That Sigyn was the maid that would freely be able to talk with guards or advisors without the worry of the fate of two kingdoms resting upon her shoulders; that she could laugh and blush at their compliments to her.

But, she reminded herself, she couldn't be selfish. She had to be brave and set aside herself for Asgard and for her people. She had made the agreement with herself to ignore Loptr, to not even allow let her gaze to linger on him for more than a moment. And she planned to stick to this agreement, to stay faithful to her husband. He may not be as attractive as Loptr, but she would be loyal to him alone. She nodded in her resolution.

"Good day to you, Fulla." Sigyn turned to watch as Mim as he greeted her maid, a smile lighting her face at the sight. "Say, have I ever told you of the time I went on a boar hunt?"

* * *

Loki stood tall and proud, refusing to fidget even under the weight of his golden crown. He wore his emerald cloak over his bare torso—it felt oddly comfortable to free himself from the constrains of the thick, rigid leather armor and have his skin be exposed to the biting Jotun winds once more—while his Marking were painted a vivid blue once more. Gungnir was in his hands, having remained in its spear form since the last trial, and it offered him some small support.

He stood at the center of the great, looming entrance archway that led into Utgard's halls. Below him was the palace's courtyard and the formidable stone walls that separated the castle from the gorge that was spanned by a narrow bridge which led from the southern rode and to the great gates. All of this, he stood above, watching from his perch. An emerald carpet was unfurled on the great steps before him, the members of the court and warlords standing at attention on either side. "Your Majesty," Thiazi said as he stepped into his own place at the right hand of the king, bowing slightly.

Loki slightly inclined his head to Thiazi though did not turn his eyes to look upon him, asking in an even tone, "Is everything prepared for her arrival and the ceremony of intent?"

"Yes," Thiazi replied, turning as Loki was to keep watch out over the courtyard and the bridge beyond, keeping a close watch for the arrival of Mim and the princess he accompanied. "I have learned by rote my words for the ceremony and the queen's chambers have been prepared for her."

Despite not being the sovereign queen yet, she was Loki's intended wife and thus made it tradition for her to occupy the queen's rooms. Not since the death of Farbauti, Loki's mother, nearly seven years ago, had anyone entered into the chambers at the top of the southwest tower, being left locked as a sign of respect, but after the agreement to the treaty had arrived from Idavoll, Loki had charged a small army of palace maids to clean and completely redecorate the chambers.

"Excellent," Loki nodded. The king remained silent for a moment before he glanced up to the sun overheard, saying, "Mim is going to be late. But that is no surprise." As if in response to the king's comment there were three trumpet blasts that echoed over Utgard and Loki couldn't help keeping a smile from curling onto his face. He could just imagine his friend's smug face at the grand entrance he made, as well as being precisely on time.

From the road appeared the escort, though not looking nearly as worn and dusty as when Loki had left them. They all were glinting in freshly polished armor, vividly dyed tunics, and extravagant clothes. At the head of the guard rode Mim, his dark brown curls falling regally about his face and the navy and storm gray of his cloak was accented by the silver clasp he wore about his throat. But, what was more eye catching, was the woman in the scarlet and gold of Asgard that rode at his side.

A gold veil obscured her face and intricately braided hair, falling about her in a rippling wave of silk. Over the veil, resting upon her brow, was a golden circlet set with glinting rubies. She truly was a sight to behold, her facial features a mystery to all that looked upon her while she held herself with such grace and majesty that there was no doubt in anyone's mind who this woman was. Loki found, like most everyone else, that he was incapable of looking anywhere else.

The escort passed between the great iron gates of Utgard, between the lines of warriors that guarded Jotunheim, before finally halting their mounts at the very base of steps that led up to where Loki stood, right to the edge of the emerald carpet that stretched down over the main stairs. Taking one final moment of solitude in studying the veiled woman, Loki raised Gungnir for all attention to be turned onto him.

"Today, we have gathered inside the great walls of Utgard to greet a woman, the princess of Asgard, that has journeyed to ensure peace between our realms by sitting beside me on the Ice Throne and becoming the queen of the Jotuns," Loki began. He paused as all those present cheered their approval before he raised Gungnir for silence, which was soon achieved. "I, King Loki, son of Laufey, proud descendant of the house of Utgard, protector of the north, and the sovereign of Jotunheim do welcome the Princess Sigyn of Asgard, only daughter to the Emperor Odin, to her new home at the palace of Utgard. Now, I ask the Lord Thiazi of Thrymheim to continue with the ceremony of intent."

The ceremony of intent was the official betrothal of the bride and groom to one another. Despite the agreement of the treaty technically being when Sigyn and Loki became promised to one another, it was Jotun tradition to hold the ceremony of intent when the woman entered her to-be husband's home which was always precisely six days prior to the wedding ceremony.

Loki stepped to his left so as to allow Thiazi to step into the center of the entrance and command the crowd's attention. Unlike a noble and commoner's ceremony of intent, the royal ones included the people of Jotunheim as a royal marriage was not just binding a man to a woman, but also the crowning of a queen to rule with the already proven king. The queen did not have to undergo the trials of twenty-night battles, but she had to win the approval of her people as they bore witness to her official engagement.

"People of Jotunheim, you have gathered today to act as witnesses to this ceremony, where our king, Loki, shall promise to the Princess Sigyn and to Jotunheim that he shall take her as his wife and as your queen. I now ask the Lord Mìmir of Gastropnir, heir of the Lady Menglad, to present the bride to the king and his people," Thiazi commanded.

At this cue, Mim slid from the saddle of his horse, his mare being led away by a stable boy as he moved to offer a hand to Sigyn, her white-gloved hand grasping his and she gracefully slid to land with a light thud onto the emerald carpet. Loki's gaze did not waver from her. It was true that her perfect legs and arms—even her elegant neck—were now covered in scarlet and golden silk, but her curves could not be hidden so easily and Loki felt as though he should be punished for looking at her so, like he was violating her by simply watching her ascend the stairs with grace and ease.

Her reaching the top of the great steps finally drew him back into focus as he hurriedly diverted his eyes to Thiazi, hoping she did not recognize him. He did want her to hate him for his deception; that he lied about his identity to her. Part of him secretly wished that she would recognize and be glad of it. Show that his interest in her was returned. But that was something he dared not admit to himself that he hoped for, as he feared it would only lead to his inevitable disappointment.

It was Mim's part in the ceremony, he stood in for the bride's father or brother as he had been the one to take her under his care in journeying to Utgard, and he dutifully declared to the people assembled, "I, Lord Mìmir of Gastropnir, do present the Princess Sigyn to his Majesty, King Loki, and the people of Jotunheim for their approval and the declaration of intent towards marriage."

"People of Jotunheim," Thiazi continued, turning to the crowd assembled. "Do you accept the princess as the king's wife and your queen?"

There was a ripple of conversation that burst out through the crowd as the Jotuns assembled discussed this in hurried whispers. Loki schooled his expression to remain emotionless. His people could end this treaty right then, if they disapproved of the Asgardian princess. He would never need worry about the princess thoughts toward him or his disguise as a guard nor would he need to constantly need to protect the fragile peace established between his realm and hers. But then again, he would never look upon her beauty nor would he hear her wit. But, above all else, the promise he had sworn to his father on his death bed would be broken within a two months of swearing it.

Finally, a single, "Aye," rose from the crowd, in the section of the warlords. Loki's eyes immediately flitted to where Menglad stood at the center of them all, her head held high and confidently. Upon noticing the king's gaze upon her, the lady grinned at her monarch and slightly inclined her. And then the rest of the warlord's slowly chorused their agreement, some more reluctant than others. The commoners were the last, but most enthusiastic, to chime in their agreement.

Nodding at this, Thiazi declared, "Jotunheim has spoken; we accept the princess as our future queen and bless her marriage to our king." He turned from the masses to gaze at the two that stood closest to him. Loki, in his deep emerald green to his left while Sigyn stood, obscured in scarlet and golden silks, to his right. "And now, I ask our King Loki of his intent to the Princess Sigyn. Do you intend to honor her before marriage?"

"I do so intend," Loki immediately replied, fixing his gaze upon Thiazi and not daring to look upon Sigyn.

"Do you intend to respect her as a woman and princess both before and after you are bound to one another?"

"I do so intend."

"Do you intend to uphold Jotun tradition by not looking upon her face until after the wedding, so as not to bring upon your marriage dishonor and a malicious fate?"

"I do so intend."

"Do you intend to now officially declare her the woman you are engaged to wed?"

"I do so intend."

Thiazi nodded to this before turning to Sigyn. "Now I ask the Princess Sigyn of her intent to our King Loki. Do you intend to be a loyal wife and queen?"

"I do so intend," she replied from behind her veil. Unbeknownst to Loki, her blue eyes were fixed upon him. She was intrigued by him not only because he was to be the man she would spend the rest of her life with but also because she knew she had seen him before. But, behind her veil it was a difficult task to see distinguish facial features, even of the king who stood directly before her.

"Do you intend to honor your husband and fulfill every duty as his wife?"

"I do so intend."

"Do you so intend to never reveal your face to him until after the wedding, so as not to bring upon your marriage dishonor and a malicious fate?"

"I do so intend."

"Do you so intend to now officially promise yourself to this man as his wife?"

"I do so intend."

"Then, before the eyes of Jotunheim, I pronounce King Loki and Princess Sigyn as promised to one another with their intent now declared. They shall be wed six nights from this very night, to display their trust and honor in one another in the wedding dance as well as a traditional Asgardian ceremony that shall be a symbol of the peace treaty that led this couple to be wed."

The crowd roared their applause to this while Sigyn took in a deep breath. There was no turning back now. She was bound to him now, the King of Jotunheim, her country's greatest foe. The only way out now was for her failure of the wedding dance but that would only lead to the war she had hoped to avoid with agreeing to the treaty. She looked upon her fiancé, and as if sensing her gaze, his eyes finally turned to look upon her. Sigyn's breath caught in her throat. Even behind her veil she could see a pair of deep, piercing emerald eyes.

* * *

"Well…this is…" Fulla began as the two Asgardian women were left alone in the queen's chambers to settle in. The maid, her sandy brown hair braided back in an intricate up-do that managed to combine Jotun and Asgardian styles in one hairstyle, swiveled her head about, her doe brown eyes wide in wonder. She took in the sight of Sigyn's new chambers—the queen's chambers—and Fulla had to agree, they certainly were fit for royalty.

The walls were gilded with intricately carved wooden panels that depicted past Jotun queens while the plush parlor furniture—the first room of the set of chambers—were covered in soft furs and made of rough wood that only gave the room a cozy feeling. It was nothing like the traditional floor cushions and low to the ground bed pallets back in Asgard, which were designed for staying cool in the heat, but rather warmth against the constant bitter Jotun winds. Fulla found she quite liked it.

"Amazing?" Sigyn finished, looking over at her maid with a wide grin.

"Yes," Fulla nodded, returning the grin before moving to flop onto the settee, pulling thick gray pelt about her, smiling contently at its warmth.

Chuckling at her maid, Sigyn settled herself on the settee as well, pulling black furs across her. It felt magnificent to simply sit and relax. Her bones ached and her mind was weary. She relished being free of her dreaded veil for at least a time, that she could see and breath clearly. She only wished to sleep for a time, to forget she was in a foreign palace that was her new home or that she needed to begin lessons on how to dance a wedding dance so difficult Jotun girls began when they were eight. She sighed as her eyelids finally fluttered closed, savoring the feeling of relief that washed over her.

"Mim was saying that Loptr was sent from Utgard on an errand from the King," Fulla said, offhandedly.

"Hmm?" Sigyn asked, barely listening to her maid.

"Mim, or Lord Mìmir. He insisted I call him Mim." Sigyn faintly smiled at this but nodded for her maid to continue. "Well, he said Loptr is away on an errand."

This time, Sigyn fully heard her maid's words and she suddenly remembered her realization at the very end of the ceremony. She supposed that in between the fuss the servants made over her luggage and her room, those thoughts had been pushed to the back of her mind. Her eyes flew open and she suddenly sat up, making her fur blanket slid off her and crumple onto the ground. Fulla blinked at her in shock, but the princess hurriedly exclaimed, "Fulla! Loptr is Loki!"

"What?" Fulla exclaimed, disbelief clearly written across her face.

"During the ceremony," Sigyn explained, "I could not see his face clearly because of my veil and the angle he held himself at, but then after we were officially declared intended for one another, he turned to look upon me and I saw his face for the first time—he has those same emerald eyes!"

"I—but, but why?" Fulla asked, confused. "Why would he disguise himself as a guard?"

"Maybe because he wanted to ensure Lord Mìmir was successful in keeping to the treaty?" Sigyn suggested, that being the only logical answer that came to mind. She liked Loptr more than she cared to admit but she couldn't allow her hopes to be raised in such a way, as she feared it would lead to disappointment.

"Surely it was to meet you, his future queen?" Fulla replied, voicing Sigyn's unspoken hope.

Before Sigyn could reply there was knock on the chamber door—another difference from Asgard where only doors were used for the throne room while most private chambers had open archways that allowed for cool air to enter—and the princess called, after snatching up her discarded veil and sloppily throwing it over her head, "Enter."

Much to both the women's surprise, a formidable lady with dark brown pulled back into a neat braid bustled in with a rather bemused Mìmir following her, his gray eyes briefly flicking over to Fulla and giving her wink before turning back to the woman he followed, saying, "Princess Sigyn and Maid Fulla, if I may present my mother, Lady Menglad of Gastropnir."

"Yes, yes," Menglad said, waving her hand at her son as if to shoo him away. "Enough of that. I'm here for a reason. The King has asked my son and I to teach you the wedding dance so as not to disgrace yourself, the King, and all of Jotunheim." Menglad fixed her gaze onto Sigyn, barking out, "Take off that stupid veil and let's see you properly."

Trying to restrain the amused grin on her face, knowing that it wouldn't be appreciated by this no-nonsense woman, Sigyn did as ordered and reached a hand up and gratefully pulled her s gold veil from her, revealing her mass of red curls and her face. Menglad didn't seem the least bit fazed by Sigyn's red hair—although unheard of in Jotunheim—much unlike the other Jotuns she had met that couldn't seem to get past the color and found her delightfully exotic because of it. An image of Loptr—or Loki—flashed through her mind but she effectively ignored it. "It's such a shame that scarlet is one of Asgard's colors, it does nothing for red hair," Menglad observed, disapprovingly.

"Yes, if only she was wearing emerald instead," Mìmir quipped, giving Sigyn a teasing smile and a wink.

Menglad ignored her son as she glided farther into the parlor, settling herself onto a chaise lounge chair covered in snow white furs, saying as she did, "We shall not start dancing today. That scarlet it too horrid to even bother dancing in and any way, my son still needs to find a spare room to dance in." She shot him a look that said he needed to find something _else_ as well which made Mim roll his eyes and chuckle slightly.

Sigyn wasn't entirely sure how she was to respond to this so she simply said, "I suppose you're right."

"Yes I am," Menglad nodded before continuing on briskly, "Mìmir will begin with teaching the couple's part of the dance. _He _should know that well enough." She took that opportunity to shot him another look. "And I shall be observing and critiquing on the side. My son tells me that Maid Fulla knows the beginning of the dance so we shall all collaborate together in our efforts."

"Do you think I'll be ready in time for the wedding ceremony?" Sigyn asked, hoping against hope that the answer to this question was yes.

Menglad fixed the red headed princess with a determined look, like she had found herself her next personal project that she was, under no circumstances, going to fail at. "If I am helping you, you shall be the most graceful bride to ever dance at a Jotun wedding," Menglad promised, her sincerity written plainly across her face.

* * *

"I hope you have your dancing shoes on and left your ugly scarlet dresses in your closet," Mim announced as he strutted into a large, empty room with arching windows and plain stone walls and floors, leading Fulla and Sigyn. Menglad was already impatiently pacing across the room, shooting her son a scowl as he entered.

"Mìmir," Menglad said, her chastising tone not making Mim even blink, he was so used to it. "When I said dance lessons were to begin promptly at half past ten, I _meant_ half past. Not half past and then some."

"My dear old mother loves to keep to her schedules," Mim explained, breezily before continuing as he shot a winning smile to Menglad, who bristled up at this, "But let us not doddle and dive right into our first lesson!" Sigyn watched the exchange between mother and son—finding it oddly endearing that the two bantered back and forth so, albeit Menglad more harshly then Mim—before focusing her attention on Mim as he took position in the center of the room, offering a hand to the princess which she hurried to take, not wanting to waste a moment of her lessons in the preciously small amount of time she had.

"Since we only have six days before the wedding," Mim began before adding, just for the sake of being dramatic, "As it would be positively _scandalous_ for a woman to live in her groom's home unmarried for more than six days, we must begin with the intricate art of Jotun danc—"

"Today, you'll be learning from Mìmir the wedding couple's portion of the dance," Menglad interrupted before Mim could get too carried away, shooting him a dry look before continuing. "This is the hardest part of the dance with neither the groom nor bride being able to make eye contact. Mim should be able to teach you how to dance this part quite easily as he has had _much_ practice."

"Honestly, mother," Mim laughed, "It's like you're trying to hint at something." Fulla giggled at this, making Mim adopt a rather satisfied smirk while Sigyn tried to restrain rolling her eyes. Mim was much too charming for his own good at times.

"Just get on, you great sod," Menglad replied, crossing her arms, fixing with her son with an expectant look that left room for no argument and was unrelenting, even in the face of Mim's bright grin.

"Right then," Mim said, turning back to Sigyn. "This dance is to symbolize the couple's life together as they weather every trial with each other's trust and support. The dance was originally more of a war ritual that had developed through the years to be used for weddings. In any case, you first must place your left hand on my shoulder."

Sigyn hurriedly did as she was told before Mim gave her a dry look. "Your _other_ left hand."

"Oh, right, sorry," Sigyn laughed, sheepishly as she switched her hands, removing her right and placing her left hand on his shoulder.

"Good, now take hold of my other hand." She took his offered hand. "And I place my free hand at your waist. Alright, so this is the basic position of the dance. You and King Loki will meet each other in the center of the dance floor and immediately come into this position and remember never to meet his eyes. Of course, you'll be wearing a veil, but the point remains. Anyway, after that, the steps are simple at first."

"First we got right. It goes one, two, three, one, two, three," Mim instructed, his footwork light as he attempted to led Sigyn, who was having a hard time getting her feet to move at the same time as Mim's and only ending in stubbing her toes and tears of pain to prick her eyes. Seeing her expression, Mim assured her, "Don't worry, princess, you'll get the—ow!" He cut himself off suddenly as Sigyn accidentally stomped on his foot.

"Ow, ow, great King Thrym!" Mim exclaimed as he hopped about clutching his throbbing foot. Sigyn felt bad at the state of Mim, but it really was hard to restrain an amused chuckle as Menglad was laughing fully at her son and Fulla was hiding her giggles behind her hand, looking embarrassed despite herself. "What are you wearing on your dancing slippers? Spearheads?" Mim demanded before noticing all of them laughing at his pain. "You all are horrible people."

"Calm down, dear," Menglad soothed, snorting a bit as she did. A noise like that from any other woman would have been undignified, but from Lady Menglad, whose mere presence was stately, it seemed almost proper. "How about I practice with the princess and you and Maid Fulla can demonstrate?"

Mim's face immediately turned from indignant to jovial as he practically dashed across the room to Fulla, exclaiming as he did, "What a marvelous idea! Maid Fulla, if you would care to join me in demonstrating for our dear Princess Sigyn?"

Fulla simply shook her head in amusement at his antics, accepting his offered hand nonetheless. Sigyn, not at all as pleased with this new arrangement, found herself with Menglad, who was acting the part of the groom, which seemed slightly inappropriate as Sigyn was quite a bit taller than the lady. "Now, no more wasting time, everyone!" Menglad barked, regaining order to the dance lesson as Sigyn situated herself in the basic position she had already been taught. "Mim, if you would lead us?"

Obediently, Mim counted off the rhythm of the dance and then Menglad began to lead Sigyn around the room. "Pick up your feet, girl!" she barked at the princess when she once more began to stub her toes. "A queen does not drag her feet." The rest of the morning's dance session was spent in much the same fashion, with comments from Menglad that ranged from a simple, "You are as light as a feather, so dance that way!" to much more motivating exclamations such as, "Honestly, do they not teach anyone to dance _properly_ in Asgard?"

Despite being an utterly terrifying experience for Sigyn—and a rather merry one for both Fulla and Mim—the princess had to admit they did make quite a bit of progress for their first morning of lessons. Of course, that was until Menglad informed her that they had only learned the first minute of the nearly twenty-minute long dance.

* * *

The third night after Sigyn's arrival to Utgard found the royal palace relatively quiet as no grand dinners were being held and the preparations for the wedding throughout the day had ceased as night fell. The princess, having spent much of the past two days in the company of a cheery Mim, bashful Fulla, and frequently cantankerous Menglad, had retreated to the queen's chambers for the remainder of the evening, not entirely sure how long her sanity would remain with her.

She currently was situated in a nest of furs, reading over her nearly illegible scrawl across the parchment before her, absent mindedly nibbling the tip of the quill she had in hand, poised to make corrections to her letter. In between traveling, dancing, and being so tired she was barely capable of coherent thought, she had forgotten to write to Balder. She was making up for it with writing a lengthy scroll's worth recounting her journey north and her first two days at her new home. Balder would no doubt complain on the length of it when he replied but she was making especially sure to not give him reason to complain on her grammar as she read through it.

He could be a real pest about grammar and spelling.

Sighing, Sigyn set aside her quill, blowing on the drying ink for a brief moment before rolling the parchment up into a neat scroll. Collecting herself from the settee, she stuffed the scroll into the pouch at her belt—one of the more practical aspects to the traditional Jotun dresses—before dusting off her pale blue skirts and sweeping out of the queen's chambers.

It was hard to believe that she had departed from her home nearly a month ago, that she hadn't see Balder, her mother, or father for four weeks. And Thor even longer. It felt like a lifetime ago, that she had agreed to the treaty and that she has changed so much since then. But then, at the same time, it felt like only a blink of the eye since, that it had blurred by quickly and that she hadn't changed in the least. It was confusing feeling, she decided as she continued along the corridor that ran from her room, hoping she remembered the proper way to the raven coops that Mim had shown her on her first full day in Utgard during the grand tour he conducted for her.

She somehow felt like she doing something brave but at the same time found herself petrified. She had been so busy with worrying about memorizing the steps of the dance—a task that was her most immediate of trials to face—but she also couldn't push aside the worries of her life after the wedding, of her marriage. As the Queen of Jotunheim—a position that hasn't been filled for seven years—she would be expected to rule the Jotun people as though they were her own, though the nagging worry they would never accept her still persisted; that they would always see her as the foreign bride their king had taken so as to ensure a fragile peace that could be shattered at any moment.

Then there was the worry of being a wife. Her mother had assured her that being a mother was a joyous, wonderful thing. That it was every woman's greatest honor in life to be a mother to a child, boy or girl, and help them grow and become something that any parent would be proud of. Sigyn twisted her hands nervously at this thought. She had never considered children seriously before, she accepted it would become a reality some day, but now she found that day sooner than she thought.

Her mind stumbled over the thought this led to. As a wife and queen, she would need to share the king's bed. Her face went scarlet at this and she hurriedly shook her head clear of these thoughts. There was no use in dwelling on these things now, her immediate task was to perfect her part of the wedding dance else wise she would bring disgrace upon herself and the treaty would inevitably fail. The Asgardisn aspect of the ceremony, she could execute with ease and grace, but the Jotun dance would be her ruin. She released a shaky breath, looking about her as she brought herself out of her musings.

She stood in a corridor that was completely unfamiliar to her. It was lined with arching windows that overlooked the courtyard far below and the great bridge and the gorge beyond. She muttered a curse under her breath. It was just her luck to get lost in Utgard as she allowed herself to get lost in thought, now having absolutely no inkling of an idea where she was or how to return to her chambers.

Glancing about, she saw a door not far down the corridor from herself. Deciding she might as well try to find a servant to guide her through the twisting halls and passageways, she set determinedly towards it. Straightening her appearance—a princess must always look presentable, even when lost—she knocked resolutely on the door. "Enter," was the muffled reply from within.

Grasping the door's iron handle, Sigyn peered into the chamber that was behind the door to find herself in a library. It wasn't Utgard's main library—Mim had shown her that one and it was much more vast and gilded with finely polished wood workings than the one she found herself currently in—but it was impressive nonetheless. The library was illuminated by glowing blue orbs of magic that she only had ever seen described in one of Balder's monstrous tomes. She gasped at the sight as one floated down to her, bobbing merrily around her.

"Yes?" demanded a voice. Jumping slightly at the noise—she had forgotten that someone was in the library besides her, she was so mesmerized by the magic orb—she found the source of the voice. Sitting at a heavy wooden study table cluttered with scrolls, parchments, and thick volumes was a lean man with his back to her. His hair was black and slicked impeccably back while the fair skin of his back was lined with vivid blue paint of fresh Markings. She recognized him immediately and she suddenly found her voice stolen from her, her feet rooting herself to the spot.

At her silence, the man turned and easily locked his gaze onto her as she stood barely within in the doorway, the blue orb still bobbing about her. His emerald green eyes easily captured her inside their intense gaze. He raised a black brow at her, a questioning look coming across his perfectly structured face. He rose from his chair. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, though not unkindly.

This seemed to shake her from her trance as she ducked her head in embarrassment. She had vowed not to allow Loki or herself to look onto each other's face until after the wedding ceremony, but now she was not only without her veil but gazing upon him unabashed. She hurried to divert her eyes. "I lost my way. I was going to the raven coops but found myself somewhere I did not know."

"The ravens are on the other side of the palace," Loki replied, an amused smile curling onto his face. "I can send for a messenger if you'd like?"

"Um, yes, thank you," said Sigyn. Loki nodded mutely back before beckoning one of the magic orbs from the air to rest in the palm of his offered hand. He cast his over hand over it, his fingers patting the top of the blue magic before it seemed do a spin of excitement—it reminded Sigyn of how Thor's hunting hounds became when they were happy, chasing their tails—before turning a bright green and then zooming from the library, hitting the door and disappearing through it.

Sigyn watched this all in amazement, now completely forgetting her vows as she gazed at her betrothed in wide-eyed wonder. "Are you surprised I can perform magic?" Loki question and this time, Sigyn watched his amused smile curl up the corner of his mouth and she suddenly found herself annoyed. That was the exact smile Loptr—Loki—had worn and now the sight of her stirred questions and, above all, irritation.

"Why did you lie?" she found herself asking, acting as though she were talking with Balder with how freely she spoke. She wouldn't have been able to give an exact answer on why she suddenly found herself so furious. It most likely was that all her worries of the treaty, being a queen, a wife, and the wedding dancing as well as home sickness and pure fatigue finally had gotten to her. She was tired of having to act perfectly for the treaty, of being brave. She was tired of him not being straight with her. She just wanted honesty.

"About my magic?" Loki asked, though his expression remained amused.

"No, about who you were! Why did you say your name was Loptr and that you were a guard for the king?" she demanded, taking an agitated step or two towards him.

"Well, technically, Mim called me Loptr and a guard," replied Loki with a slight shrug.

"That's beside the point," Sigyn replied, crossing her arms huffily as she halted her march, now not two feet from Loki, fixing him with a demanding glare.

"I wanted to ensure that Mim did not make a mess of the peace treaty," he replied, his voice finally turning serious and meeting her agitated gaze with a scowl of his own.

"But why did you disguise yourself?" prodded Sigyn, not giving up so easily.

"Do you really think it wise for a Jotun king to travel to the borders of Asgard, the very country that has been attempting to invade for one hundred and fifty years?" demanded Loki, raising a brow.

"It's against Jotun tradition to travel to meet his bride, though," countered Sigyn, having learned this from Mim. "It would not matter if the border was hostile or not. Why?"

Loki sighed at her, running a hand thought his black hair. "I wished to meet my bride. I was breaking tradition—as I am now," Sigyn winced at that. Of course he was aware that they were breaking their vows and she knew it was her fault for intruding upon him and then managing to pick an argument while she was at it. "But I chose to nonetheless. Even a king wonders about his betrothed wife."

Sigyn opened her mouth to reply but suddenly found all her bravery from before evaporated, leaving her embarrassed at her actions and wishing to take back all of her words. She swallowed, noticing how close they had become in their argument. Loki seemed to notice this as well as he turned away from her to look back at his cluttered desk, clearing his throat he did. "Excuse me princess," he muttered, "That was inappropriate of me."

"No, it's my fault," Sigyn replied, shaking her head. "I spoke out of term because of all my growing frustrations." Loki nodded, though he did not turn to face her. There was a moment of silence before Sigyn finally asked, "What is this room?"

"It's my personal study" Loki replied, looking from the parchment atop his desk and around the library, the orbs seeming to grow stronger as his keen gaze fell upon them. "Each volume contains knowledge on magic in every form."

"Did you teach yourself from these books?" questioned Sigyn, wanting to at least talk with him to ease the embarrassment of their brief argument.

"Yes," nodded Loki, slowly turning to fix his green gaze upon her, searching her expression for her reaction.

"That's amazing," Sigyn replied, truthfully, though she refused to meet his gaze as she instead interested herself with watching the magical orb that still bobbed around her mass of red curls.

A slight grin appeared on Loki's face as he said, "Watch closely." He extended his palm towards the orb that followed her, Sigyn raising an eyebrow at this. The orb bounced over to Loki's palm. It paused mid-motion for a moment before it seemed to expand, turning from its vivid blue to a gray color that turned into orange. I took shape and then, after another moment, sitting in Loki's palm was a black, fluffy kitten that meowed up at Sigyn.

She jumped in surprise, Loki reaching his other hand out, wrapping it around her waist, steadying her. "Is it…is it real?" she questioned, after her initial shock, peering down to come to eye level with the cat, blue eyes meeting green ones.

"He's very real," Loki confirmed with a nod and a grin at Sigyn's wonder.

And then their relative silence was broken. Bells began to ring throughout the palace—the warning bells that announced an emergency—and then suddenly there were rapid footsteps coming from the hallway and, not a moment later, Mim, looking winded, burst into the library. He took in the sight of Loki, a cat in his hand and an arm wrapped around Sigyn, but did not comment on it was the two sprang apart.

"Loki," he managed to say around gulps for breath, he had just dashed across Utgard, "There's been a break-in. Assassins in the queens' chambers."

Not waiting for further explanation Loki hurriedly handed the kitten to Sigyn, saying, "Take care of him and stay here. Stay safe." Not wanting for her response, he held out his hand, Gungnir rushing across the room to where it had been resting against a bookshelf and into his awaiting palm. Then, without further ado, he was sprinting out of the library, Mim close on his heels. Sigyn watched with concern clearly written across her face, holding the kitten protectively against her. Assassins. Assassins for _her_.

* * *

**A/N:** The stakes are raised and so is the drama! Thank you for reading and I hope that you enjoyed! Please leave a comment, question, or what-have-you!


	11. An Assassin's Truths

**Chapter Eleven—An Assassin's Truths**

**Warnings: **Violence, Swearing.

**A/N:** ...oh, hey. I'm back! Life decided to happen and time got away from me, but enough of that! On with the chapter!

* * *

Fulla carefully balanced the tray on her forearms as she reached for the latch to the queen's chambers. The princess had barred herself in for the evening after yet another day of dancing lessons. If she was being optimistic, Fulla would say that they had gone rather well and that she would surely had the dance perfected well in time for the wedding only three nights hence. But, if she was being honest—which Sigyn would insist on—she would have to admit that there really was _much_ to be desired.

The maid sighed. The princess seemed to know this already and had refused to eat with Mim, Menglad, and her after the day's lessons concluded. Now, it being well past dinner time, Sigyn had yet to appear in the dining hall and Fulla suspected she would be hungry. After practically begging the head cook for a loaf of bread, a mug of ale—she knew that the princess didn't drink, but Fulla also knew she would want something stronger than water—and a wedge of sharp Jotun cheese, Fulla had gathered it all on a wooden tray and made the winding journey through the many halls and staircases of Utgard.

Bumping the latch before using her foot to nudge the door the rest of the way open, Fulla peered into the darkness of the parlor. Frowning at this, she ventured farther into the room. Glancing about with the aid of the silvery light shed from the moon filtering in through the windows, she could easily see that Sigyn had been occupying the settee and reading or writing something—the candles on the side table had burned themselves out. Setting the tray down on the ornate dresser below the carving of past Jotun queens, Fulla ventured silently from the parlor towards the opened door of the bedchamber.

If Sigyn had managed to sleep so early, Fulla did not wish to waken her. It wasn't surprising in the least and was for the best. After all, with all the stress that the princess had been undergoing not only since her arrival to Utgard but also ever since the proposition of the treaty, it was understandable to be in want of sleep. Fulla strongly believed that sleep was the best cure for anything. It was an enormous relief at times, just to relax and retreat into one's mind.

As she carefully peered into the bedchamber, Fulla only had a moment's comprehension that the bed was still perfectly made without any sign of Sigyn within it. Before a frown could form across her face, the maid briefly caught sight of something being swung directly at her, a scream piercing the air that she would later be told was hers. Sheering pain, red blurring her vision, overwhelmed her senses before her body seemed to default to its natural reaction—a faint.

* * *

Mim was strolling along the south wing third floor corridor, tossing an apple that he had nicked from the kitchens lazily from hand to hand. He grinned faintly as he watched the rise and fall of the fruit that matched the rhythm of his steps, feeling quite pleased with himself. After taking his evening meal with Fulla and his mother, Menglad had practically dragged him back to her personal chambers in Utgard to have a 'chat'—as she phrased it to Fulla—who seemed to think nothing of the matter despite the pleading glances from Mim to aid him in his plight.

Whether he liked it or not, Mim soon after found himself sitting awkwardly in his mother's personal reception room with a cup of piping hot tea in his hands—despite his mound of sugar, it still tasted like dirty stockings to him—being stared down by Menglad. He had to endure a lecture on how she wasn't going to live forever and she would haunt him from the afterlife if he allowed the proud line of Gastropnir to end with him. Then she went on to badger him about the candidates to be the next Lady of Gastropnir—Mim briefly wondered on his own father's sanity at choosing his mother as his wife but wisely decided not to voice these thoughts—which then led to a rather awkward conversation on his opinion of Fulla.

Menglad had assured him that, though not ideal, his marriage to an Asgardian—such as Fulla—would not be _too_ horrible. After all, it would be a sign of good faith and support of the king's own marriage to a foreigner while also providing Gastropnir a lady that would be so desperately needed when Menglad traveled onto Helheim. Not to mention a way for the continuation of the noble line of Gastropnir. Though not _ideal_—and they should _certainly_ _not_ abandon searching within Jotunheim for a wife—it could be acceptable.

At this, Mim was divided between amusement and mortifying embarrassment; though, he reasoned, he really _should_ be accustomed to his mother's antics and not be affected by them. Though, he was saved from replying when he realized the lateness of the hour and cunningly spun the lie that the king had requested a meeting with the advisors to prepare for the fast-approaching wedding. Not allowing her to question him on why it was to be held so late and why she wasn't requested to attend as well, Mim had hastened from her chambers with all speed.

Nipping down to the kitchens for an apple, Mim now strolled along, relishing in his own cleverness. Swiping the apple out of the air, he took a bite from it, letting the juice dribble down his chin before mopping it up with his sleeve. It was his own small form of rebelling against his mother; abusing his clothes whenever possible. Just then he paused in his stride.

Echoing distantly through the corridors from the southwest corner of the palace was a shrill scream of someone, most likely a woman from the pitch. Mim took only a moment's comprehension before he sprang forward, dashing down the corridor at full tilt, the apple laying forgotten in the middle of the hallway. The only residences in the southwest corner of Utgard were in the tower, and, more specifically, the queen's chambers.

Rounding a corner, Mim caught sight of a trio of guards cautiously proceeding down the west hallway towards him. Not having any time for formalities, Mim snapped, "Two of you come with me and the third go to the bell tower. Tell the bell-keepers to sound the alarm." There was a beat of silence as Mim paused for two of the guards to follow him but was only met with the trio blinking at him in silent confusion. "Now!" he barked.

That seemed to jolt them into motion as one peeled away from his fellows, hurrying back the way they came, while the other two fell into stride behind Mim as he continued. It was a short stretch from the intersection of the halls and the base of the winding stairs that led to the queen's chambers which they covered in barely a moment's time. Not paying much mind to his protesting leg muscles as he pounded up the stairs, Mim dashed up the spiraling staircase, climbing with all speed to the chamber door. Not waiting to knock, Mim burst into the parlor of the chambers.

He was met with silence and the room seemed to be empty, as far as he could tell with the light shed by the moon. Drawing his sword from its sheathe at his hip, Mim advanced forward with caution, stepping lightly so as not to alert any adversaries that may be lurking in the shadows of his movements. Flicking two fingers at the guards and then towards the door that led from the parlor, Mim signaled for them to fall into ranks behind him, ready to defend each other from an ambush.

It was a hard task navigating around the lavish furnishing of the parlor without a single noise being made, but finally, Mim was standing before the door to the queen's bedchamber. Taking a moment to steel his nerves for the absolute worst, he kicked the door open with all his force, charging in with his sword brandished. Chaos ensued.

Mim and the guards burst into the queen's bedchamber to find three black-clad men—assassins by the grappling equipment and knives they wore at their belts—and Fulla unconscious on the floor, most likely knocked out. Just the sight of the maid's crumpled form on the floor kindled a blazing fury within Mim's chest. Not waiting a single moment, he launched himself at the nearest assassin, letting out a savage battle cry.

The man, taken aback at the sudden sight and vicious noise of Mim, was stunned for a fleeting moment. But, when he caught sight of Mim's glinting steel cutting through the air, he barely managed to bring up his hooked dirks—Svartalfheim in style—to stop the attack from separating his head from his shoulders. Mim, not unused to battling a foe wielding the particular type of dagger, hurriedly withdrew from the brief lock the blades had been in. To allow his blade to be locked with the dirks would be a deadly mistake, seeing as the hooks could easily leverage his weapon from his hands.

Mim stood his ground, his eyes narrowing as the assassin danced away from him, careful not to allow the slightest of openings in his defense for his foe to take. The two observed each other for a brief moment. Judging by the assassin's movements, the dirk wasn't the only thing that was Svartalfheim. The other man moved with the nimble grace of a fighter trained in the forested country. The thought briefly came across his mind that there would be no prompting or gain that Svartalfheim could have with attempting to stage an assassination on the soon-to-queen of Jotunheim. But then, those were thoughts for later as he had his life, and that of Fulla's, to defend.

The barest flash of moonlight on a blade was the only indication that the assassin was swiping his blades down in an attack. Acting more on instinct than thought, Mim barely managed to duck his head to the side in time to keep the dirk from biting into his skin. With practiced reflexes drilled into his memory, Mim thrust his sword forward at this exact moment, taking the assassin, who held the advantage mere moments before, by surprise. Righting his stance Mim was faced with the shocked expression of the other man, his eyes wide with surprise and mouth open in shock.

Then, he yanked his blade out of the man's abdomen, scarlet coating the silver steel. Blood welled in the assassin's stomach as well as his mouth, pouring out as if it was his final words. The assassin desperately clawed at the wound in his stomach, attempting to press the fatal wound closed. It was of little use though as he staggered from his feat and onto the plush carpet that matted the floor, crimson staining the yellow thread. Turning from the sight, Mim set his face so as it wouldn't betray his horror at killing a man—typically a honorable accomplishment in Jotun culture—before hurrying to the aid of his comrades that seemed to be having a harder time of disengaging their foes.

With Mim's added efforts, the remaining assassins were soon bound and gagged though only after being knocked unconscious by rather blunt thumps to their heads from Mim's sword hilt. Gasping for air as he attempted to wipe the sweat from his face, Mim finally knelt at Fulla's side, thankful to see she was unharmed save for the angry red bump adorning her forehead. "Fulla?" he asked, gently shaking her shoulder.

She grumbled something incoherent in response to this as she rolled onto her side, curling against Mim, asleep. Taking up her hand, he kissed it affectionately before returning it to rest at her side. Clamoring to his feet, he turned to the guards, both of whom were busying themselves with adjusting the captives' bounds and adamantly avoiding gawking at Mim's improper show of devotion. "One of you is to remain here to guard the prisoners, though I doubt that they shall reawaken soon," Mim said, his tone indicating that he wasn't to be questioned. "And the other is to take the Maid Fulla to the palace physician."

"Yes, sir," both the guards saluted smartly. Without further pause, Mim hastened from the queen's chambers in all speed. The mere fact that three assassins, presumably trained in Svartalfheim, had snuck into the walls of Utgard was reason enough for alarm. But to be within the queen's own personal chambers was a crisis. The King had to be informed without a moment to be spared.

As Mim bolted for Loki's personal study—the one sure place the King was sure to be at that time of night—the alarm bells began to sound. Mim sighed and rolled his eyes; the bell-keepers really didn't know the meaning of haste.

* * *

"I heard Fulla's scream and I went running for the queen's chamber. I found them in the bedchamber. There were three of them," Mim summarized hurriedly as he dogged Loki's steps. Typically, with the scene that Mim had interrupted, he would have been teasing his friend for all that he was worth, but now they were no longer simply friends. Instead, they were a king and his royal advisor, and there was little room for joking with the current crisis at hand.

"Were?" questioned Loki.

"One has been killed," Mim replied with a short nod. "The other two are bound and gagged—presumably still unconscious."

"Any ideas on who hired them?" Loki questioned as they pounded up the steps of the southwest tower.

"They wielded Svartalfheim weaponry and were trained in their fighting style," Mim answered before adding, "Though it seems out of place. We have strong trading ties with Svartalfheim."

Loki nodded absently as he strode through the queen's sitting room and burst through the door into the bedchamber. Upon sight of the king, the guard snapped to attention. It took only a moment for Loki to take in the sight of the two bound assassins, the third's body already removed but his blood stains remaining, and the guard that stood dutifully before his sovereign.

"Thank you, sir guard, but I have use for you elsewhere. If you would have a servant make up one of the more sizable guest chambers and then send for the collection of the Princess Sigyn from my personal library and to escort her there. Also, have the captain of the guard dispatch a search throughout the palace for further intrusion whilst doubling the guard. Send four or so men here after that is done to collect these assassins for the dungeons," Loki instructed, his voice reminiscent of Laufey. "I do not want a single fly leaving or entering Utgard without my knowing of it."

"Yes sir," nodded the guard, saluting before hurrying to do the king's bidding.

Taking up post at the door while watching his friend warily, Mim wisely decided to hold his tongue for once, instead simply observing Loki's actions. The king paused for a moment as he seemed to analyze the assassins before he held out a palm, a small orb of blue soon forming, and tipped it over the heads of the two bound men. Mim, though used to his friend's tricks, watched with amazement as the blue orb turned into water that splashed over their heads and dripped onto the already stained carpet.

The assassins woke with jolts at the water jumpstarted their systems into consciousness. Not allowing them a moment of thought to either speak or even realize their current situation, Loki waved his hand, mumbling a string of words under his breath that sounded like ancient Jotish—Mim couldn't be certain, he had slept through most of those lessons as a boy. "You have been bound by a truth-telling charm. To each of my questions, you must and will only be able to respond with the truth and nothing but," Loki informed the two men. They stared back at him in wide-eyed terror. Neither daring to blink in fear of being hexed in the bare milliseconds between when they closed their eyelids and opened them again.

From that look in their eyes, it was easy to read that they knew _exactly_ who stood before them. Loki, holding himself at his full height with his golden crown resting upon his brow, looked every bit the king he was. For some odd reason that Mim could hardly fathom, he was suddenly proud of his friend.

"Is that completely clear?" questioned Loki. The two men bobbed their heads hurriedly. "Good, I shall remove your gags then." With another wave of his hand, the knots of the gags undid themselves and fluttered down to rest on the stone flooring before the men. "Mim, would you care to join me?" Loki said, indicating his royal advisor to come stand at his side.

"Well, I thought you'd _never_ ask," chuckled Mim as he abandoned his post, smiling brightly. Now that the immediate danger had passed, he decided it seemed quite proper to cheer up the tense mood with a bit of his humor.

Loki ignored him. "Tell me your names," demanded the King.

"I am Scirner," replied the man on the left who bore a nasty scar that ran from his left temple to the corner of his mouth.

"And I am Gleipnir," the other replied, seeming surprised that the words had so easily slipped from his mouth; his black, thick brows furrowing at this. Just as Mim had suspected, both men were from Svartalfheim, judging by their thick accents unaccustomed to speaking Common Tongue.

"So you're both of Svartalfheim?" prompted Loki.

Scirner glowered, yet nodded mutely nonetheless while Gleipnir said a hasty, "Yes."

"Who sent you to assassinate the princess?" questioned Mim, cutting in before Loki had a chance to ask his next question.

Silence followed this question. The two assassins traded looks before Scirner clamped his mouth shout while Gleipnir seemed to be attempting to choke down the answer in his throat. Both of their faces turned an extraordinary shade of vivid purple. Loki sighed at the sight, saying, "There's no use in trying to fight the spell. It suffocates you until you give an answer." Scirner's glower worsened at this.

"It's strange how honorable assassins are," Mim observed dryly. "Not wanting to reveal their employer." Loki resolutely ignored him. A pause followed, in which Mim took up humming a cheery drinking tune that made the king glare at him in annoyance.

Just when Loki was about to lose his patience—both at the assassins and at Mim—Gleipnir took a deep, rattling breath of air and managed to wheeze out, "A Jotun lord."

"What?" Mim exclaimed in disbelief at the same moment as Loki demanded in a dangerously low growl, "Who?"

The royal advisor glanced warily over at the king; he knew that tone of voice. He had only heard it twice in his memory and never from Loki. It was Laufey's most dangerous tone, when he was so enraged that the only fate for the person that caused his anger was death. If the king was merciful, then it would simply be a beheading by the king's swift sword. If he was vengeful, which he usually was, it would be slow, gruesome torture. Mim suddenly felt pity towards the assassins.

Scirner, his tone scornful, replied, "We received the commission nearly two weeks ago, just after when the announcement arrived in Svartelfheim of the engagement between the Asgardian princess and the Jotun _savage_." Loki's actions were so rapid that Mim barely had time to register them.

The King sprang forward, grabbing hold of the assassin's tongue from within his own mouth. Whilst he wrenched it out, his other hand unsheathed his dagger. The tongue was sliced off and tossed carelessly onto the floor in matter of moments. Mim disdainfully toed it away from him.

At this Gleipnir raised an eyebrow. The other assassin seemed almost impressed by this and said, respect in his voice, "The commission was sent with full payment—which is odd since typically we only get half before and the rest after the assassination is successfully completed—as well as a map on how to enter Utgard and climb up to the queen's chambers unobserved." Scirner, who was clutching at the empty space in his mouth, sent a warning look at his colleague but Gleipnir ignored him.

"Do you know the motives behind the commission?" Mim questioned.

Gleipnir shook his head. "I do not. As a hired assassin, we do not ask questions as long as get full payment."

"But do you know who the Jotun lord was?" demanded Loki, leering menacingly.

Unfazed yet still showing an uncanny sort of reverence for the king, Gleipnir replied, "The commission was sent from Lord Thiazi of Thrymheim."

* * *

"Fulla!" cried Sigyn at the sight of her maid entering into the parlor. She had been waiting around in the guest chambers she was to stay in for the evening, attempting to be patient for the return of her maid. After being escorted to her new rooms, Sigyn asked after the whereabouts of her maid. When informed that Fulla was being attended to by the physician, it took at least four servants to restrain the princess from running off through the palace in search of her maid—that not being the safest of things for Sigyn to do at that moment. So, she had plopped herself down on one of the chaise lounge chairs and attempted to distract herself with stroking her cat.

"Sigyn—" began Fulla before she was cut off with the princess wrapping her in fierce embrace.

"I was so worried about you! When I heard about the assassins in my chambers, I feared the worst," Sigyn said, sincerely as she led Fulla over to sit on one of the couches arranged in the guest chambers' parlor, sitting opposite her in the chaise. The maid blinked in surprise at this.

She knew that Sigyn viewed her as a close companion, but the princess' face showed a true, deep relief. What Fulla didn't know was that she was the kindest, most honest, and genuine person that Sigyn had ever met. The princess held her maid's friendship in the highest of regards.

"Yes, I heard it took a small army to keep you from running off into the palace in search of me," Fulla replied, a teasing smile across her face. That smile was suddenly startled from her when the black cat pounced onto her lap, curling into the folds of her simple brown dress in her lap. "Who's this?"

"A kitten the King gave to me," Sigyn explained before adding, wanting to avoid the tale of the cat and all that happened before for as long as possible, "I'll explain that once you tell what has happened. I know of the assassins in my rooms, but tell me of what happened to you."

"Well, I took my evening meal with Menglad and Mim…" began Fulla, her voice soon adopting the soothing rhythmic quality to it that she always spoke in when she told her tales. Sigyn listened silently, though it was hard not to interject when Fulla described being knocked unconscious. The maid added in the parts about Mim battling and killing one of the assassins, as she had been informed when she awoke at the physician's, and concluded with saying, "I was unharmed save for this."

The maid brushed aside her sandy brown curls that obscured her forehead, revealing an angry red bump. "Oh my!" exclaimed Sigyn, "Does it hurt? Are you alright? Do you want me to call for something? A cold compress perhaps?"

Fulla waved her off with a laugh. "Don't worry over me. The physician put a balm on that took away the throb. It should be gone by tomorrow evening." Sigyn nodded to this, contented by this answer before Fulla asked, "How about you? Are_ you_ alright?"

Sigyn gave Fulla a searching look before sighing, saying, "Yes, I'm frightened, if that's what you mean. But, being Asgardian, I'm too damn stubborn to admit it to myself."

Fulla laughed at that, making the cat meow at her. "Oh, sorry, dear," the maid apologized to the cat with a grin before inquiring to Sigyn. "How did you come by this one?"

The princess took a deep breath, feeling the dread inside of her grow. She had been attempting to ignore it from fear of it gnawing away at her mind. There was no use in worrying about something that was in the past and couldn't be undone. But now that it was time to actually speak the words aloud to someone, a great anxiety seemed to wash over her.

"I was writing a letter to Balder, which I still need to post," Sigyn began, fishing the crumpled scroll from the pouch at her belt, frowning at it before setting it aside. Then she took a deep breath and began to tell her own tale of the night's adventures. "Then Mim came bursting in with the news of the assassins and I was left with the kitten," she concluded.

Fulla was silent for a beat before she said bluntly, "You broke your vow." The maid did not think much of the Jotun marriage traditions—she found them quite daft, really—but there was still the fact that Sigyn had given her solemn oath to uphold her vows. Albeit, she did not break them on purpose.

"I know!" Sigyn exclaimed, burying her face into her hands. "I don't know what to do! The _one_ vow I had to uphold before the marriage, I broke! Some ancient Jotun curse is probably going to smite me at any second! I ruined the treaty before it even could be solidified. What am I supposed to do? Should I ask Mim for help—I mean he saw us together—but he would even know what to do to help?" The more the princess talked, the more her speech became slurred and hurried, betraying her panic.

The maid, alarmed at the state of her friend, said, "Sigyn!" She abruptly cut herself off. Fulla continued, soothingly, "Breathe deeply and think calmly. There is nothing we can do tonight. You must get some sleep so we can deal with this in the morning." Sigyn opened her mouth to protest, but Fulla was already up with the cat tucked under her arm and bustling about, preparing for bed. "By the way, I think I know what we should name him, the cat, I mean. I think we should name him Loptr."

* * *

"What are you going to do with them?" questioned Mim, running a hand through his thick brown curls, making them stick even more precariously than before into the air; deciding to handle at least one of the problems at hand. He glanced up at the king who strode back and forth, pacing just before the dais where Mim had seated himself, both of them retiring to the throne room.

"With the assassins?" questioned Loki, pausing in his stride. "Scirner will be sent into the Arena. If the gods are merciful he shall die within a week at the hands of another warrior. Gleipnir, on the other hand, I shall appoint as a guard."

Mim's thick brows rose so that they disappeared underneath his brown curls upon hearing this. "How are you planning on avoiding getting a dagger in your back?"

"I will place spells on him but I doubt they are necessary," replied Loki before continuing his pacing. Mim frowned, wanting to protest that Gleipnir should simply be sent with his fellow assassins into the Arena, but wisely decided to keep his mouth shut. He _was_ the royal advisor, but he knew it was best to not offer his advice at that particular moment. Mim's silence was rewarded as Loki began to speak, "We can't blatantly accuse him. To do so would cause civil war. He holds the largest number of banner-men of all the warlords _and_ he could easily sway at least half of the lords to his side immediately if he were to rise against me."

Knowing Loki spoke of Thiazi, Mim questioned, "Couldn't you cast a truth spell on him before the whole court? Question him as you did the assassins?"

"No, I couldn't say the words of the spell without him being aware of it. He would immediately be insulted for me not trusting him even after he swore his allegiance to me," Loki replied shaking his head. "That would be an act worthy of war to him." Mim nodded in agreement. Jotun warlords were short-tempered, even the composed and dignified Thiazi. The slightest of insults could push any one of them over the brink of war. There had been many squabbles between lords laced throughout Jotunheim's history, though not since the Asgardians began their invasion.

"Well, what of the other half of the warlords?" prompted Mim, returning to the first option.

Loki paused in his pacing to frown at Mim. "The _other_ half are the weak ones that Thiazi sees no need in having their loyalty. Even with them, I would be dethroned and executed within a week of Thiazi declaring war."

"What if you gained the trust of the greatest warlords beside Thiazi before he did?" questioned Mim.

"What, ask them all over for a pot of tea and then say, 'oh, by the way, the man you fear the most tried to have my to-be wife murdered, care to join me against him?'" Loki shot back, sarcastically. "I couldn't even _talk_ to them without Thiazi becoming aware of it."

"Ah, but you forget, Loki, that _I_ am the royal advisor and _I_ have a special way of going about things," Mim replied with a grin. Loki raised an eyebrow and Mim took that as a prompt to continue, "Well, you see, along with arranging the arrival of the fair princess, I have been keeping up with gossip around not only the palace but the country."

"And what_, exactly_, does _gossip_ have anything to do with our current crisis?" Loki demanded, irritable.

"You see, I've been receiving certain _whispers _from around the country that certain warlords don't entirely like nor trust a certain lord of Thrymheim," Mim replied. He paused before adding with a bright smile, "I'll fetch a map then, shall I?" Loki nodded his agreement to this. Mim bounced to his feet and practically skipped from the throne room, returning in a handful of minutes with a map, inkpot, and quill in hand.

Setting themselves up at one of the side tables, the king and royal advisor poured over the map of Jotunheim before them. Dipping the quill in the ink, Mim quickly underlined three names. "Fimagard, Eldirheim, and Griotungard," Mim proclaimed when this was completed. "Of course, I would add Gastropnir onto the list, but you already have our loyalty." Loki briefly smiled at his friend before inspecting the map closely.

"Aurentil, Vidar, and Skadi," mumbled Loki, naming each lord of those regions. He remembered each of their battles well. Skadi had been the most challenging of the three; wielding a pair of deadly fast daggers, while Aurentil fought with cunning strategy and Vidar a sort of silent resilience.

"Each of them shamed by Thiazi in one way or another," Mim said before tapping the little dot that read Fimagard. "Aurentil was to lead a night skirmish on a nearby Asgardian garrison that had been terrorizing his people. Thiazi swept in and burnt down the garrison the night before Aurentil planned to, taking away the glory of his fight." Now Mim tapped Eldirheim. "When Vidar was only sixteen, he was humiliated by the much more seasoned Thiazi in a sword duel in front of Vidar's betrothed. Thiazi then married the young girl." Mim finally tapped Griotungard. "Skadi was in love with Thiazi's daughter but he denied the marriage on the basis that Griotungard was not powerful enough nor was Skadi worthy."

"How have I never heard of these events before?" questioned Loki, surprised.

"All too minor of dealings to be taken to royalty," Mim replied with a shrug.

Frowning, Loki said, "From now on, no matter how small the matter, if it involves my warlords, I wish to know." Mim nodded to this before they returned to the map. "Fimagard commands the trade routes from the east to the mountains of Thrymheim. Aurentil could easily block supplies of wheat, flour, and all grains. Eldirheim has the second most banner-men after Thiazi, certainly the most well trained warriors, while Griotungard has the richest trade and agriculture. With their loyalty, I would have _some_ chance against Thiazi's wrath."

"And Gastropnir is third wealthiest and well-armed," added Mim with chuckle.

Loki grinned slightly at this before asking, "Are you absolutely certain they still feel vengeful against Thiazi?"

"Very sure," Mim replied, confidently.

"Good," Loki nodded, resolutely. "I want messages sent to them immediately. Write that we shall meet this very night in the war chamber. I shall set spells on it so that we won't be overheard or noticed at this late hour."

Mim grinned mischievously at this before Loki added, "And remembered to send a message to Menglad as well."

"Why most you ruin all my fun?" Mim complained. Loki just smiled innocently back before striding from the throne room.

* * *

**A/N: **So, we're beginning to come to the end of the first arc of the story. New characters are being introduced as we gear up towards the next big points of the story! Excitement is about to ensue. Also, I really apologize for the long wait for this. I'm going to try to get regular updates going again, though not every day like they were at first. I hope this latest chapter was worth the wait, though! Thanks for reading and please leave a comment, question, or what-have-you!


	12. A Meeting of Lords

**Chapter Twelve—A Meeting of Lords**

**Warnings:** Mim (Side note: the rating will go up for obvious reasons in upcoming chapters)

**A/N: **I updated in all haste when Tom Hiddleston's safety was at stake.

* * *

Utgard's war chamber was a room tucked into the depths of the castle, guarded by false walls, secret corridors, and dozens of defensive wards Loki had casted the day of his coronation. The war chamber was the heart of intelligence in Jotunheim; every secret of the nation was stored in that room, secrets that could make the country collapse.

Loki was perched at the head chair at the great roundtable that occupied the chamber's center. His green eyes darted over the maps before him on the table. There was Mim's map, detailed blueprints of Thrymheim, the pass that led to the mountain fortress, as well as every known route into and out of Jotunheim from Svartalfheim. His mind posed doubtful questions at him in rapid succession—was he acting too rashly? Thiazi was the most powerful of the Jotun warlords, including himself. He may wear the crown, but Thiazi was the true power of the country. To rise up against him was suicide, in the very least. He couldn't help shaking the knowing worry that trusting assassins' words was foolhardy, no matter how much he reminded himself that he had placed a truth spell upon them.

Though, he couldn't help but think, that of anyone, Thiazi would have the most to gain if Sigyn was murdered and Jotunheim was forced into war with an enraged Asgard. Thiazi would most certainly come out of the conflict triumphant; either as the next king, if Loki were to perish in the fight, or simply hold out on his own with his vast resources. Asgard would make peace with him for the minerals his mountains offered and he would be made even more rich and powerful than before.

Loki seethed silently at this.

There were six quick raps on the door, the pattern that disarmed the defensive spells for the war chamber, and then the heavy oak doors squeaked open, emitting Mim followed closely by the three lords and lady. All were solemn faced, knowing the gravity of the situation. They may not know the true circumstances of the meeting held so late in the night, but they knew it could only be of the utmost secrecy and danger.

Loki rose to his feet at the sight of them, greeting each in turn. "Lord Skadi of Griotungarder." Skadi was a lean young man with light brown hair bleached from the sun. Unlike most Jotun men, his markings were crimson red keeping with the tradition of the house of Griotungarder. "Lord Vidar of Eldirheim." Vidar was Loki's senior by twenty-eight years; a muscular man with a head of messy black curls and sharp, icy blue eyes that seemed to seek out every flaw before him, calculating it. "Lord Aurentil of Firmagard." Aurentil was the eldest of the men with long dark brown hair pulled into a warrior's knot and stubble growing in along his angular chin.

Finally he nodded to the sole lady of the room, saying, "Lady Menglad of Gastropnir." The lords all took seats at the table, Mim immediately taking his customary position to Loki's right while Menglad took the left, and the others arranged themselves accordingly. Sitting himself, Loki began, "I thank you for coming so late into the night. There as matter of utmost urgency that I am trusting to keep council with you upon."

He paused looking about the room at each man—and woman—meeting each of their gazes steadily. "You are each men that have sworn allegiance to me, your king, and I now have great need for your steadfast support and loyalty. This very evening, assassins stole into the queen's chambers, attempting to murder the princess of Asgard. I can tell you in great assurance that they were sent by the Lord of Thrymheim, Thiazi."

Loki was not in the least bit surprised when none of the men betrayed any sort of shock at this news, all of them blinking at him as if this was to be expected. Taking this as a sign to continue, the king said, "It is an intolerable act that, while it was apprehended, will not deter Lord Thiazi from what ultimate plans he has against the Jotun crown. I fear it will lead to open conflict should I confront him and that is why I have chosen you all to call upon as my closest allies."

"Your Majesty," Aurentil began, glancing around at his fellow warlords as he spoke. "I think I speak for every man—and woman—here when I say that you have our support. And not only because Lord Thiazi has insulted us all."

Menglad, who had uncharacteristically been silent up until that point, added, "_I _haven't been directly insulted, but any man that attempts to have a woman assassinated is not only ignoble but the lowest of creatures." There was a general mumble of agreement from the other men.

"I agree that this very well may lead to open conflict, but it is very possible that it can be avoided," Vidar began slowly, staring intently at the maps in front of him before glancing up at Loki with his sharp blue eyes. Mim shot a smug look to Loki, obviously pleased at his choices of ally in Vidar. "Perhaps we can slowly ease away Thiazi's power here at court?"

"But that doesn't make much difference, does it? He's still the most powerful man in the country and holds the other warlords in the palm of his oppressive hand," Skadi said, pointing out the major flaw in this plan.

"If he was no longer powerful at court he would at least have no hold within Utgard and within close vicinity of his Majesty and the princess," replied Vidar, smoothly.

"And how do you propose avoiding conflict then? Lord Thiazi is no simpleton, he will notice and become wary if his duties are taken from him and will become insulted," Menglad stipulated.

Mim spoke then, with a smile quirking his lips, "It seems insulting him is an unavoidable consequence." Skadi chuckled at that while Menglad narrowed her eyes at her son.

Aurentil replied to Menglad's question instead, "His Majesty will, of course, still seek council with Thiazi under pretenses of him still being trusted, but all the while slowly decreasing his power."

"And stationing royal banner-men in Thrymheim, intercepting shipments of minerals from Thrymheim mountains, and taking them into royal custody would at least regulate his fortress," Vidar added. "Though, it might take manufacturing a fake threat to take these actions without raising his suspicions."

"_Extreme _manufacturing," Mim quipped.

"Try as we may to avoid open conflict, we must be fortifying our homes and training our banner-men," Loki said, interrupting further conversation. "As Mim said, albeit jokingly, there is really no way to avoid insulting Lord Thiazi. We shall either insult him directly by stripping his power at court or by attempting to seize control of his keep." Loki paused, taking a deep breath. "But we must at least try."

* * *

Loki's eyes snapped open at the sudden chill that bit into his bare flesh. He sat up from where he had laid in an icy bed of white snow, his skin prickling with chill, and his keen eyes were met with dim light that was cast across snow flurries that kissed his face upon the wind before dancing away. He swept his gaze about, finding himself on top of a barren cliff, snow falling away not far from where he sat and into a craggy gorge before him and to his sides, sheer cliffs that stretched high into the steel gray skies.

Behind him was the only escape from cliff, the yawning mouth to a dark cave that offered no hint of what it hosted, the dim light of the sun not piercing its shadows. He collected himself from the snow at the sight, becoming instantly wary.

Loki's brows furrowed together. Surely this was a dream, for last he knew he had returned to the king's chambers to rest for an hour or two before the morning, but the bitter chill of the wind was too harsh, the snowflakes that froze onto his skin was too icy, and his breath that fogged the air too dense for this to be anything other than reality. Glancing down at himself, he found he was still dressed in what he had worn to bed—a simple pair of loose breeches too thin to offer any warmth.

His body, gone unnoticed until then, was racked violently with a shiver. For him to be getting cold was a true sign of the icy temperatures and he knew he must find shelter from the chill—dream or no. Not liking the prospects of venturing into the cave but knowing it to be his only option, he hurried through the drifts of snow, his bare feet sinking into the cold wetness and driving him forward ever faster.

Stepping through the cave's mouth and out of the chill, he was met with a wave of warmth that immediately made his shivers subside. Loki puffed out a sigh of relief that echoed throughout the cave. Frowning, Loki squinted his eyes into the darkness, trying to use what dim light from outside to see the cave he found himself in. From the echo, it seemed like the cave was a cavern. Using his feet and hands to feel into the darkness, Loki ventured forward.

It was a slow journey as he cautiously proceeded but then his fingertips grazed against something. Loki immediately jerked his hands back. Whatever he had touched most certainly wasn't anything normally found inside a cave. It was neither smooth or cold like stone, but rather warm and furry. The darkness before him seemed to shift and as it did, it allowed light to flood into the cavern from an overhead source. Loki immediately staggered back.

Before him was a giant beast, his fur shadows woven together to form the blackest of pelts, his head proud and long, and, above all his eyes were glinting and intelligent. Loki's green eyes never wavered, not allowing it to see a hint of fear, and he was met with the steady gaze of two icy blue eyes, unnatural for a beast such as he. The beast opened his mouth, but instead of the dangerous, savage growl Loki expected, a deep rumbling noise seemed to echo from every corner of the cavern, "Little mortal king, greetings." Loki, out of simple force of habit, nodded his greeting back, too stunned to speak.

"I am Fenrir, King of Beasts." Fenrir, a name long forgotten in Jotun myths that died along with the Jotish tongue generations ago when Jotunheim opened its borders to the other realms, adopting the use of Common Tongue. Fenrir was a deity no longer believed to ever have existed, a figment of ancient people's imaginations. He was said to be the wolf king and the constant companion of the ancient warlords, long before the country was unified under one banner.

He was from bedtime tales that mothers told their children to scare them at night. _Surely this is just a dream,_ Loki thought, his own mind doubtful.

"Ah I see your doubt in me, little one. You think I am only a creation of your mind's fatigue," Fenrir said, his voice making Loki's ears ring once more. The wolf seemed amused by this, as if the antics of mortals such as Loki were as entertaining as that of a puppy, despite Loki being a king. "Reach your hand out to me, little one. Touch my fur."

Fenrir offered Loki one of his massive paws. Steeling his nerves—despite being called little and seeming to be a source for great amusement for the wolf, he _still_ was a king—Loki reached a pale hand up and his palm rested on the warm, thick fur.

Before his eyes flashed warriors charging into battle and men fighting and dying. He saw villages develop into cities that then were laid siege too, making them desolate. He saw the Ice Throne occupied by men of every variety, all with a different crown resting upon his brow. He saw Jotunheim become unified under one warlord over all the others, he saw it turn away from the old ways and into the new. "I have lived far longer than you can possibly imagine, little one. I am not a dream."

Loki involuntarily gulped.

"I have prophesied your reign since I was a mere pup. I have been waiting," the wolf said, his deep rumbling voice vague as though the thought made him wistful. "You shall bring Jotunheim into a new age."

"What do you mean?" Loki inquired after a pause, quirking an eyebrow.

Fenrir seemed to pay no mind to Loki, saying merely, "Trust the binding, little one." Before Loki had a chance to ask what exactly that meant—he barely had enough time to register this cryptic command—an unseen force flung him from the cavern, out into the snowy chill and over the edge of the gorge.

He jerked upwards, taking a deep rattling breath as if drowning and only just coming up for a life-giving breath of air. Loki glanced around. He was in the king's chambers, furs surrounding him in a nest and the warmth of the fireplace caressing his sweat-soaked skin. Sighing, he ran his hands over his face. _Was that really only a dream?_

* * *

"Good evening, ladies," greeted Mim as he casually sauntered into one of Utgard's many dining halls. Seated at the main table in the hall's center was Menglad, Sigyn, and Fulla, all swathed in traditional Jotun clothing and just beginning what was sure to be another extensive dinner. At the sudden noise of his greeting, Sigyn jumped before realizing who the speaker was and relaxing minutely.

Fulla stole a worried glance at her friend while Menglad, unaware of companions' subtle actions, fixed a scowl at her son. "Mìmir, I hope you have a reason for arriving so late to dinner?"

"No reason in particular, dear mother," Mim said with a sunny smile as he reached the table and plopped down in his chair. "I was just stopping by to see how the fair maidens are doing this fine evening," he shot a winning smile at Sigyn and Fulla, "grab some food, before going off to find his Majesty. I have some _interesting _news to share with him." He glanced meaningfully at his mother, who, for once, didn't return his look with a glare.

"So, all fares well?" Menglad inquired, casually. Too casually, really, seeing as Menglad never spoke casually of anything. Fulla raised an eyebrow at this. Something had happened the previous night after the rest of the palace had finally went to sleep when the scare from the assassins finally settled down. Something that involved Mim, Menglad, and King Loki but Fulla had no inkling of what it might be.

Sigyn, however, took no note of this exchange. Her nerves were completely frayed and she was as jumpy as a hare. She feared every voice would be the one to proclaim the breaking of her vows, to sentence her to death. She feared that Mim would remember the scene he came upon and inform his mother at any moment. Though, at this point, she was fairly sure Menglad already knew. Throughout dance lessons, the woman kept giving the princess peculiar looks that made Sigyn want to hide in her rooms—which isn't to say that Menglad's expressions didn't typically strict fear into heart, this was just more so.

"Quite well, indeed," Mim replied with a self-satisfied smile. After a brief pause, he stacked a slice of bread, smoked ham, cheese, and another slice of bread onto his plate before scooping the pile up in one graceful movement. He collected himself to his feet and said, "Well, farewell, ladies. Duties to attend."

With that, he trotted from the hall as quickly as he had arrived. Sigyn couldn't help but sigh in relief at his departure. She felt guilty for it—after all, Mim was one of her few friends in Utgard—but she couldn't help but feel wary with him about.

"Princess Sigyn," Menglad began.

She nearly jumped from her seat. "Yes?" she replied a little too hastily.

Menglad, thankfully, took no notice of Sigyn's guilty tone, instead saying, "There is a matter that I wish to discuss with you. You are fast-approaching the day of your wedding, only two days hence, and there is an important matter that I need to discuss with you."

"Oh, of course," Sigyn nodded, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

"As you know, women are considered sacred in Jotunheim, seeing as we bear and raise children while also being the center of a home," Menglad explained. "So, in light of that, we are given special rights. In this instance, if a woman is marrying a man through an arranged marriage than she has the right to keep her chastity for two weeks after the wedding day, so as to allow her to become familiar with her husband. This is called the Fortnight Privilege."

"To invoke, you must simply state your intent at the end of the ceremony after his Majesty removes your veil and there is a prompting for it," Menglad concluded.

The thought made Sigyn's already fluttering stomach twinge. _Her husband_, that's what King Loki would soon become to her. The man that disguised himself yet he was the man that she couldn't help feeling attracted to. The man that had lied to her and the man that she was bound to through already broken vows. The man that would father her children. Her hands were sweaty at the thought and she hurriedly hid them in the folds of her dress; yes, she would invoke the Fortnight Privilege, as much as she drawn to Loki; she knew she wasn't ready to be made a wife.

* * *

After asking a dozen servants, Mim finally found Loki in the queen's chambers, a spell book in hand and one palm extended before him. Before he could barely poke his head through the door, Loki called out, "If you open that door an inch more, the protective barriers will incinerate you."

"Ah, that's certainly an interesting welcome," Mim replied before adding, "Good evening to you too." Blinking at his friend, Mim saw that the king looked awful with dark blotches under his eyes that was a sure sign that he had slept very little or uneasily the night before—and Mim didn't blame him. After the council had dispersed, it was nearly dawn. Deciding not to be a complete pain, where he usually would tease Loki, Mim refrained from making a snide comment.

Loki didn't reply for a moment, as he formed some incoherent phrases that triggered the queen's parlor to blaze with a golden glow on its walls, strands of magic woven together that stretched across the stone walls. Mim watched in silent interest. Just as the truth spells, Loki's magic never failed to impress him. Finally, as the magic faded into nothingness, Loki snapped the spell book shut and said, "_Now_ you may come in."

With a grin, Mim pushed the door the rest of the way open, saying, "Isn't it a bit risky of you to be in the queen's chambers? People _will_ talk. Like the servants, that's how I found you."

Loki dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "The servants spread gossip amongst themselves that is so often untrue; no lord ever takes heed of them." Mim shrugged at that acknowledging the legitimacy of the king's words.

"I'm guessing you put defensive spells in place for the princess?" questioned Mim after a moment, watching Loki seem to analyze his work—though how he was doing so was beyond Mim since he could see no trace of any magic about the room.

Turning away from Mim and inspecting a particularly small stone in the wall, Loki replied distractedly, "Only those she wishes to enter will be allowed through the threshold. Those that aren't shall be set ablaze—not with real flames but it will still hurt a great deal."

"So you won't be able to sneak into her rooms whenever you want?" Mim asked, peevishly.

Loki paused, turning back to Mim to give him a wolfish grin. "Whoever said she wouldn't allow me to enter?" There was a beat and then Mim broke into peals of laughter, clutching his stomach as tears welled in his eyes. Loki smirked at that before returning to his inspection.

"Ah, that was good," sighed Mim as he regained his composure, wiping away the tears of laughter from his cheeks before saying, "But really, I actually came with a purpose. Two, actually."

"Yes?" prompted Loki.

"Firstly, Aurentil has stopped all supplies passing through Firmagard to Thrymheim, warning the merchants of a plague sweeping through the mountain holdings. They are being diverted. It shall take a week or two before this goes noticed by Thiazi, but by then, Vidar has promised the manufacturing of a crisis—mountain bandits."

"Mountain bandits?" repeated the king, finally giving his full attention to Mim.

Mim, obviously preening about being so clever, nodded, replying, "Yes. Mountain bandits will supposedly be attacking the merchants en route to Thrymheim which will explain the lack of supplies. When hearing this news, the crown will immediately send men to patrol the roads and thus, Thrymheim."

"Good," Loki nodded, a pleased smile curling his mouth, "And what's the other?"

"Ah yes," Mim said, "I've meant to ask. Why exactly are you trusting Gleipnir to _not_ stab you in the back? He's an _assassin, _Loki, that's what they're trained to do."

Loki gave his friend an amused look. "That's been really bothering you, hasn't it?" He continued before Mim could sarcastically quip back. "Well, assassins only stab people when they're paid, and since _I_ am paying Gleipnir, he won't be killing me anytime soon. I suppose you're wondering why I didn't spare Scirner as well. Well, firstly I was going to sentence Gleipnir to the Arena but then out of instinct, perhaps, I knew that I had to spare him. Call it intuition, I don't even know myself."

Mim offered no reply to this, rendered speechless. He didn't know what it was and he didn't know what had triggered it, but there was something different about Loki that he couldn't quite place. But he knew, without a doubt, that he didn't like it.

* * *

**A/N:** Fenrir. That's all I have to say. (Brownie points if you know what he was referring to in his final message.) Also, yes, I know Skadi is a goddess in mythology and Thiazi's daughter but I loved the name and wanted to use it. Also, Fenrir is obviously not Loki's son contrary to canon myth. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment, review, or what-have-you with your thoughts, predictions, or questions!


	13. A Bit of Theater

**Chapter Thirteen—A Bit of Theater**

**Warnings: **None

* * *

Mim was perched on his customary seat in the throne room, watching the weekly king's audiences with an astute expression on his face that masked the feeling of utter dullness that filled his mind. He was tired—frankly he was surprised he was awake at that moment—and he had quite impressive dark blotches under his eyes. After going for three days with an hour or two of sleep, maximum, he looked haggard and drawn.

He was glad that Loki at least was faring better than him. The king was stressed and worried, but he appeared to be at least getting a handful of hours of restful sleep, which was more than could be said of Mim and the other lords of the king's council. Despite that, Mim was worried for his friend. Not only was the wedding just two days away—preparations were in full swing as well as the planning for the usurping of Thiazi from his position of power—but he seemed to be plagued by some unknown worry. Something that would make his eyes grow distant and his expression turn firm. It was an expression Mim had often seen on King Laufey that always made him feel as though the man was untouchable, like he was another race entirely.

"Mim," a soft voice whispered, bringing him out of his musing. Turning his head to glance to his left, he found Fulla, her sandy brown hair escaping her maid's cap, standing at his side, a soft smile on her face.

A happy feeling warmed the inside of his chest and he smiled cheerfully at her. "Hello, my beautiful maiden."

Fulla's face blossomed into a vivid pink at this, making a pleased grin curl Mim's lips. He adored that he could make her so abashed at his attention to her, knowing that she could be complimented by him from sunrise to sunset and she wouldn't for one moment become vain. He loved that she would softly giggle at his antics and always look at him in a way that told him that she felt the same way he did.

"Mim, I need to speak with you," Fulla said, through her embarrassment, attempting to stay on task. "It's of critical importance."

"Yes, of course," Mim nodded, sensing her earnestness and dropping his teasing tone, shifting on his intricately carved advisor's chair to give her his full attention.

Glancing around to make sure no one was minding them, she said in a lowered voice, "Princess Sigyn is terrified out of her mind about breaking her vows." Mim blinked at her for a moment, about to question why this would be the case before the memory of that night, two evenings ago now though it seemed much longer, surfaced in his mind. Comprehension must have shown on his face, as Fulla continued on with a decisive nod, "She worries about someone finding out about what happened and being dishonored—breaking the treaty before it was even fully struck."

Mim nodded briefly before taking up Fulla's hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "Tell her not to fret on it—there is nothing of consequence that shall happen. All the misfortune nonsense is just that—nonsense. I'll mention it to Loki though, if you would like?"

"Yes, thank you so much, Mim," Fulla said, with a grateful smile on her face, relief clearly washing over her.

"Anything for you, my lady," Mim replied with an honest smile before kissing Fulla's hands and allowing her to withdraw through a side door of the throne room. He resisted the urge to turn in his chair and look after her, to see her reaction.

He knew his actions were bold—too bold. Touching a woman's bare hands, if she wasn't a family member, was like declaring the intent of courting and then kissing her hands was a marriage proposal. Despite this, despite all the customs and formalities drilled into him from a young age, he didn't regret it in the least. He felt like it was somehow the right thing to do when Fulla was near. To not only hold her hand—but perhaps her as well. And not just kiss her hand, but her beautiful long neck, her defined jaw-line, and her perfectly curved lips.

Shaking these thoughts from his mind, he brought his attention back to the throne room, seeing as Loki was standing from the Ice Throne and saying the traditional closing line for the king's audience. He watched in silence as the peasants and court that had gathered shuffled from the room, chatting merrily amongst themselves or debating over a decision made by the king. Mim shifted his weary gaze to look at the king, trying to goad his legs into pulling himself up as they balked at the notion, too tired to move. Loki caught Mim's glance, the two friends exchanging wiry grins. They both shared in each other's exhaustion.

Just as Mim was about to rise and cross to stand before the King, the main doors to the throne room were thrown open and in strode a fearsome sight. Trailed by two helpless looking guards, was the enraged figure of Thiazi. Though he did not wear a weapon at his hip nor carried one in his hand, both Loki and Mim knew he came in ready for a duel.

"Your Majesty," he spit out the title in fury. "Would you care to explain to me why I was only just informed that the Asgardian princess was nearly assassinated two nights ago?"

Leaning forward to carefully watch the proceedings, Mim narrowed his eyes. When Thiazi first arrived, there was a fleeting moment of panic that consumed Mim with a sudden, overwhelming fear that the lord had already discovered Mim's carefully crafted plans even before they took effect. Upon hearing the true reason for Thiazi's entrance, Mim was both relieved and suddenly astutely interested with the sadistically comedic irony of the situation.

Here was a man, the mastermind behind an assassination attempt on the Asgardian princess, demanding reason for not being informed of the incident—after all, before the assassination plot came to light, Thiazi was Loki's left hand man, Mim proudly knowing _he _was the right hand man. It was an interesting bit of theater he put on, Mim though with a grin, and if Thiazi weren't the Lord of Thrymheim, he should consider a promising career among the king's royal players.

Though, Mim conceded to himself, it was an ingenious plot. Had they not interrogated the assassins with the assistance of the truth spell—which Thiazi seemed unaware that Loki was capable of performing—Thiazi's arrival to the throne room in a blaze of patriotic glory, such as it was, would eliminate him entirely from ever being under any sort of suspicion. Mim was impressed, though he would never admit it aloud. It _was_ an excellent bit of theater and Thiazi was a master actor and, after all, what was the intrigues and drama of court but theater set on a slightly larger stage?

Mim's gaze darted back and forth between the two men, anxiously anticipating Loki's response. Thiazi stood before the Ice Throne, practically in a crouch ready for an attack, while Loki had drawn himself up upon his throne, his position relaxed yet formal, an illustration of his power as king. Despite that, Mim could tell from the white knuckles that clenched Gungnir that Loki was just as tense as Thiazi.

The moment seemed to drag out for hours, as silence reigned through the throne room, but in reality, was barely a beat of pause. Mim's mind whirled through all the options of response Loki had that would effectively sedate Thiazi without insulting him in the process. The options were very narrow with such criteria to fulfill. Finally, raising a black brow in mild speculation—giving off the air that he was offended by Thiazi's rude interruption—Loki replied in cool politeness, "I must apologize then, to you, my Lord of Thrymheim, for not keeping you current."

Mim sighed slightly in relief at that; he often forgot how silver-tongued his friend could be but then he supposed that was yet another reason Loki was so suited for the throne.

Combined with Loki's frigidly polite reply and his expression, the fire in Thiazi seemed to have extinguished rather suddenly, though he was still noticeably miffed. And that was the mastery of Loki's response, for it subtly reminded Thiazi of his much beloved Jotun order and mannerisms, none of which included forcing one's way before the king and demanding of him, the sovereign ruler of Jotunheim. A grin curled Mim's mouth at this.

"My sincerest apologies, your Majesty," Thiazi replied, bowing his head to Loki. "I only thought as one of your most trusted advisors that you would wish to keep me informed." Here he paused and when he continued, the tone in his voice immediately made Mim weary, "I would have thought my input would be valued." Mim's smirk vanished; they didn't dodge the volley, they had simply evaded one of the arrows. He should have known it wouldn't be so simple—when had Mim's life _ever _been simple?

"Lord Thiazi," Loki began, "I do value all of your advice that has so far greatly aided our country. But, I saw this affair as a matter between myself, the princess, and my own personal guards of Utgard." Loki's tone was definitive, one he adopted from Laufey when he was done speaking on a topic.

"Yes, your Majesty," Thiazi grumbled, bowing to Loki though his eyes were narrowed into a deadly glare. "I'm sorry for wasting your time." Without waiting for Loki's leave, Thiazi stormed from the throne room, stalking out with a glare in his eye that, when he shot it at the guards in made them take a step back in fear.

Sighing, Mim slid from his chair, keeping close observation on the retreating back of the lord until he was out of sight. Taking up the position that Thiazi had vacated before the throne, Mim said with a bright smile, "Well, that was cheery."

"If by cheery you mean we may have just witnessed the beginning of civil war, than _yes_, it was cheery," Loki bit back sarcastically. Mim watched as Loki rested his forehead in his palm, his limber fingers massaging his temple. The king let out a long sigh of thought, Mim resisting the urge to comment that he had a wonderful impression of the wind, before Loki said, "Mim, I want royal guardsmen on their way to Thrymheim tomorrow morning—I don't care if there are reports not yet in of bandits that will stop his suspicions. I want his strongholds watched so he cannot raise an army against us. I also want him being watched while he is in Utgard—day and night."

Mim silently nodded, knowing that the servants would be the best option for this new reconnaissance mission—they saw and heard everything in the palace, save in the war room, without fail. Thinking upon servants, his mind drifted to Fulla and her reason for visiting him during the king's audiences. "On a brighter note," Mim said, "Fulla has spoken to me and says that Princess Sigyn is in a panic."

Loki raised his head slowly, fixing his friend with a dry glare. "Mim," he began in flat tone, "We need to have a talk about the definitions of 'bright' and 'cheery,' since neither of them apply to any of the critical situations we are currently floundering in."

* * *

Sigyn sat, her feet curled underneath her still form, in the window seat of the parlor, having returned to the queen's chambers only that morning, absently stroking Loptr's velvety soft ears. She watched in silent observation the throng of people gathered in Utgard's courtyard far below. Fires glowed in golden braziers and torches illuminated the faces of Jotun peasants, smiling, dancing, or feasting in honor of their king's marriage. None of them would be admitted to the ceremony, the guests only being nobles and the wealthy merchants of Jotunheim. The ceremony would begin at noon the next day.

Her stomach churned and her feet throbbed at the mere thought of it. She let out a slow breath that she had been subconsciously holding, fogging the windowpane with its warmth but it did little to help her nerves. "Sigyn?" called Fulla as she entered the parlor, her arms laden with the heavy elaborate wedding gown. "The gown is all done if you—" she stopped when she saw the princess. Sighing, the maid carefully laid the heavy silk dress onto one of the chaises and crossed to Sigyn, saying, "Sigyn, you mustn't watch them, it will only make you more nervous."

"How can I not, Fulla?" replied Sigyn, turning to face her maid, the panic clearly showing in her blue eyes. "There must be thousands of people down there, all here to celebrate _my_marriage! One that I've already brought dishonor upon and will _again _tomorrow when I forget one of those horrible steps!"

"Don't think that way, Sig, you _are_ ready! Lady Menglad wouldn't have said so today if she didn't think it was so," Fulla replied trying to cheer her friend. Moving to take her hands, Fulla said with a smile, "Sigyn, you're an Asgardian princess! You were raised from the cradle to face every obstacle and nothing has ever stopped you yet."

Just then, there was a knock on the parlor's door and Sigyn called out, after taking a moment to compose herself, "Come in."

Peering into the room, Mim's face lit with a smile at the sight of the two women, saying jovially, "My two favorite ladies in the world, gathered in one room! My, must be my lucky day."

Fulla's cheeks turned faintly pink at that while Sigyn rolled her eyes, though she couldn't restrain her laugh at his antics. She chided herself, as Mim waltzed into the room, for ever thinking that he would sell her out. Mim was her truest friend in Utgard—not to mention something a little more to her best friend, or so she suspected—and being a snitch was simply not in his affable nature. He was far too much of a troublemaker himself anyway.

"Stop trying to flatter us, Mim," replied Sigyn with a teasing grin.

"But you ladies deserve every bit of it!" he replied. Sigyn smiled, knowing the comment wasn't directed at her and watched with joy as he casted a wink to Fulla, whose expression was an odd mixture of mortification and joy at his bold actions.

"Not that we don't enjoy your visiting," Sigyn replied before he could continue to seduce her maid, "But what brings you to this side of the castle?"

"Ah, I'm playing delivery boy," Mim replied, suddenly reminded of the purpose of his visit. From the pouch that dangled from his belt, he fished out a glinting object and said, "My orders were to bring it directly to you—so no time for it to be wrapped."

Accepting it from Mim's offered hand, Sigyn found, on closer inspection, that it was the most breathtaking necklace she had ever set eyes upon—and that included her mother's extensive collection. Set onto an elaborate chain of pure white diamonds that caught the torchlight of the room, where emerald drops bordered with glinting diamonds. Sigyn was at a loss for words. Despite being a princess and possessing a few smaller gems, no one had ever gifted a more magnificent piece of jewelry to her.

"That is the queen's necklace," Mim spoke up after a moment. "King Loki took the liberty of placing a few enchantments on it preventing misfortune for the wearer. He sent me with the request that you wear it tomorrow."

"Of course I will," Sigyn nodded, smiling down at the necklace that rested in her palms. She wasn't smiling because of the diamonds and emeralds in her hands—no matter how beautiful she thought them—she smiled because it was a gift from Loki. He offered his aid in comforting and calming her fluttering nerves before the wedding and she was grateful to him for it.

* * *

Balder sat poised on his—_Thor's—_throne, watching the proceedings in silence. He itched to return to his rooms to read Sigyn's letter that only arrived just before he was called away to the throne room. He hadn't received any word from her for nearly three weeks—though he reminded himself that she had her hands full with the wedding, which he did not envy her in the least for—and he attempted to await correspondence from her with varying degrees of patience.

Though, he hardly had a moment to spare himself. Ever since Sigyn's departure, the Emperor had called for Balder to sit in on every council, audience, or judgment, even going so far as to have Balder make his own rulings in a trial against a man accused of burglary. The man had stolen a loaf of bread to feed his starving siblings but instead of sentencing the man to decaying in the dungeons of Idavoll, he gave him work as a palace runner so that he may provide food for his family. For that, he had gained a reputation in the palace of being a wise judge, considering both the accused actions and motives behind them.

It, at first, had been hard for Balder to fully believe that he was no longer Prince Balder, the younger brother of Crown Prince Thor—the mighty warrior and beloved man of the people—but rather, Crown Prince Balder, the wise young heir that was never supposed to sit upon the throne. Yet, in two month's time, on his fifteenth name day when he was officially considered a man in the eyes of Asgard, he would be officially be made heir apparent and there would be no divergence from his path to taking the throne unless he was to meet an untimely end before he was to ascend as the next emperor after his father's passing.

The pressure that hung over Balder was unavoidable; he was constantly aware of it. It haunted him in the dark hours of the night, keeping up well into the morning, and it plagued his thoughts when he sat on the crown prince's throne, as he did now. He would look at the Asgardians, knowing that someday he would rule as their Emperor, and he would look at the foreign ambassadors, knowing they would see him as the face of the mighty Asgardian Empire.

Currently the grand throne room was occupied by a small court of nobles. There nobles were from the northern most reaches of the empire, ones whose holdings were along the old Jotun border—not as far north as the garrisons but far enough that their land was on reclaimed Jotunheim soil. The Emperor, sitting on his golden throne, listened intently to the first of the nobles to voice his complaints, a man with a pale complexion and dark hair—more Jotun than Asgardian in appearance—and a general of the Asgardian legions, Lord Tyr of Thrudheim.

"Your Majesty," Lord Tyr was saying, "I understand the importance of the treaty with Jotunheim and an end to the border conflict that has taken such a monstrous toll on our country—my own lands not excluded as many of my people have perished both as victims and warriors in skirmishes in these battles. But, I must plead for you to reconsider the decision. It is not altogether wise to concede so easily to the order of the new Jotun king, a boy of only nineteen years old."

Balder knew what Tyr was saying without him needing to say it outright—and he could tell from his father's incredulous expression that he was more than aware as well. Tyr, much like the two men that stood at his side, did not wish to forfeit the fertile planting ground that their was holdings were located upon, especially since it lined their pockets with gold.

"We are both losing honor in not rising to this challenge like true Asgardian warriors would but also losing a valuable resource to our country with returning the rich planting grounds to the Jotuns. We are practically handing them mounds of gold that should belong to Asgard," added in the nobleman that stood to Tyr's right. This man was Lord Frey of Gladsheim and, from the talk amongst the court ladies, the handsomest man in all of Asgard. He had tanned skin from the sun that made him appear to be faintly golden, his hair the color of melted gold, while his eyes were an intelligent blue. He wore a sky blue silk tunic underneath his legion armor and Balder scoffed at the sight—he had little doubt in his mind that Frey had never worn that armor in a true fight in his pampered life.

There was a long pause and for this, Balder glanced warily over at his father. The Emperor's father held anger and Balder cringed at the sight. He was more than a little annoyed himself, at these lords, and for that he wasn't entirely sorry for them being on the receiving end of his father's wrath. Nevertheless, no one—not even these imprudent lords—ever _completely_ deserved the Emperor's fury.

Odin's voice was low and dangerous as he fixed his electric blue eyes onto the final lord, Lord Hermod of Barri, who had thus far remained silent. "And what of you, Lord Hermod? Have you anything to add to this disgrace?" Lord Hermod stared back at the Emperor timidly, only fleetingly meeting Odin's eyes before quickly diverting his gaze.

Lord Hermod, though surely not in personality, was the most powerful of the three lords assembled. He held the largest, wealthiest lands in the north as well as commanded the most well-equipped of legions in the northern Asgardian forces. But, despite that, he was a timid and often bullied by Tyr and Frey, his brother-in-law. Hermod was married to the disastrously beautiful Lady Freya, who only married the mousy man for his land and money and was the center of much Asgardian gossip for her numerous love affairs.

"No, your Majesty," Hermod replied in a tone barely above a whisper.

The Emperor stared at Lord Hermod for a moment, his eyes boring into the nervous man, before he finally began, "You three lords should be put on trial for treason against the crown. Are none of you aware that the Princess is being married to the King of Jotunheim—a 'boy of nineteen' who has defeated _every single one_ of the _twenty-nine Jotun lords_, all warriors as fearsome as a century of Asgardians _and_ he is rumored to be a master sorcerer—and she is to be the queen of a people born and bred on frigid temperatures that make them ruthless and barbaric? You have no respect for her sacrifice and coming here to speak to me in this way is disloyalty to your princess, who you swore to protect as nobles of Asgard, as well as treason against me, your sovereign ruler, who made the decision to accept the treaty in the first place!"

There was a pause as Odin's raging words rung through the hall. When the echo had faded, the Emperor began once more, "I acknowledge the points you have broached in the argument against the treaty and I assure you that _all_ such reasons had been thoroughly considered before the decision of accepting the treaty was made. Now, never speak of this again or I will have each of you on the rack for treason against Asgard."

Balder finally remembered to breath after his father was done, he was listening so intently and fearfully that he forgot to draw air. He glanced at the lords, seeing each of them had gone starch white in fright—even the golden Frey.

At that moment, Saga, her red hair wild about her, burst into the throne room and sprinted the distance from the great doors and up to the thrones. "Your Majesty!" she cried. "Your Majesty! Urgent news!"

"Be gone with you!" Odin growled at the three northern lords who hurriedly scrambled from the throne room, grateful to the escape from the Emperor's wrath. When they had exited and the door behind them firmly shut, Odin nodded to Saga to continue.

"Your Majesty, the northern borders," Saga exclaimed around gasps, trying to catch her breath. "They were attacked by Jotun forces."

* * *

**A/N: **I apology for the long wait but I've made a holiday goal to make sure updates become fairly regular. Thanks for reading and please leave a review!


	14. Queen Sigyn

**Chapter Fourteen—Queen Sigyn**

**Warnings:** Drunken Advances

**A/N: **I think the update schedule is going to be every Sunday/Monday (depending on how long editing takes) so hurray! Also, if we get to 200 reviews before Christmas Day, than expect a little gift from jolly Saint Mim to spread some holiday cheer!

* * *

Sigyn ran a nervous hand over the many folds of her silk dress, the golden material offering some relief to her otherwise sweaty palms. Nibbling on her lip, she glanced down at the many layers of her skirt, the many overskirts swooping down from her bodice to reveal each intricate layer. Silk flowers trimmed the top skirt while embroidery and gems lined the ones underneath while her bodice was heavily embroidered with emerald twisting leaves and charging stags.

Seeing that her hands hadn't left a mark on her skirts, she glanced back up at the large oaken door that stood before her. She could hear the faint strains of music drifting through the thick doors to her ears. The ceremony had begun only moments ago and she now awaited anxiously for the doors to be thrown open for her entrance—when all her efforts and labors for the past week would prove if they paid off in a single dance. The dance that could bring dishonor and shame upon her for the rest of her life.

Letting out a long breath that barely calmed her fluttering nerves, she touched the emeralds that glittered about her neck over the golden silk that covered it. The feeling of the cool gems offered her some reassurance and the thought of the deep green color of the jewels brought to mind another stunning set of green, this one eyes that belonging to the man that she was to wed.

Then she heard the whine of the lyre as it gave the introduction to her entrance, her cue, and she hurriedly pulled the veil from her head down over her face, obscuring her and hindering her gaze. Not a moment too soon as the doors were thrown open before her and, taking a calming breath, she stepped forward and into the great hall, filled with glittering courtiers. All were paused in dance as they awaited her to join them. Each guest wore their finest; bright pinks and reds could be seen on elaborate Jotun gowns while the men wore their best furs, each sporting their house colors. A gleam casted off a golden crown caught her attention and Sigyn's eyes focused on the sight of the king, on the complete opposite side of the hall. He had started the dance to begin with and now he paused, waiting for her to join to continue on with the ceremony, just as the rest of the guests were.

Shoving this thought from her mind, Sigyn hurriedly shifted her gaze around, searching for her first partner. If she hadn't been so panicked, she would have supposed that the veil shielding her face was a blessing as the crowd of Jotuns could not see the absolute terror written across her face.

There! She caught sight of Menglad, offering her hand to Sigyn. Gliding across the emerald carpet, she made her elegant way to the lady. Taking Menglad's hand, Sigyn bent her knees deeply, sinking into a curtsey—as Menglad represented her mother in the ceremony—and when she arose, the music stared again, a wooden flute offering accompaniment as all the guests joined in the dance. Despite everyone swirling about her, their own steps difficult, Sigyn was acutely aware of the many eyes fixed upon her, scrutinizing her every movement.

Their opposite palms placed together and both of their bodies held the opposite way while they turned their faces towards each other, Menglad and Sigyn slowly rotated about each other before the two performed identical hitch-kicks, leading with their right feet delicately pointed as they circled. The two broke apart after a moment, Sigyn twirling so that her skirts belled about her and her arms delicately held above her head. Menglad had came to stand at her side by that point and, firmly grasping Sigyn around the waist, stopped her spinning. After a brief moment of both of them sashaying two steps diagonally left and then right, Menglad led her towards a group of women forming two circles, the outside circle rotating counter clockwise while the inside circle went clockwise. The women moved with easy, trotting steps, all moving with their toes delicately pointed.

The dancers parted and allowed Menglad to escort Sigyn to the center of the circle before Menglad, offering her hand in farewell, waved to Sigyn as two women from the circles glided to stand beside her and together, the three swirled out from the circles. Menglad's portion was now completed; the introduction was the symbolization of her being influenced and protected by her mother before she met other young women much like her—the two circles of women.

Sigyn passed for only a moment, her mind momentarily lost. Menglad had offered her support and now, as Sigyn forced her shaking limbs to pose in the starting position for the second part, she couldn't help feeling suddenly extremely vulnerable. But then her arms and feet carried her more of habit than her consciously thinking of it.

She swept her arms around her, taking a large leap forward before bringing her right leg about her left to twist her body into a spin, her hands fluttering about her as she did. The skirts offered her more weight and momentum but, thankfully, her practice skirts where only slightly lighter than golden skirts she currently wore, and she gracefully caught herself when she came out of the spin. After successfully landing the first spin, she twisted her body into a faster spin before kicking out of it and into another leap.

Landing on her tiptoes, she took a brief moment to regain her footing, Sigyn carefully balancing upon one foot as she extended her right arm towards the circles swirling about her while her left foot extended in the opposite direction. Despite the seemingly cumbersome skirts, the Jotun style of dressmaking allowed for easy movement, even with all the spinning and leaping that was required of the wedding dance—especially the second part.

Parting from the circle that began to disperse around them into pairs, Fulla, dressed in a pale green, came forward to take Sigyn's offered hand. Sigyn came down from her painful posture on her toes and the two girls linked arms, thus beginning the third part, to symbolize the friendships that mold the bride. Taking galloping steps in time with one another, leading with the right foot, the two built up momentum before pushing off from one another, spinning out from each in perfect synchronization.

Mirroring each other, the two turned back to face one another, and, taking small steps that they doubled back on every other step while clapping along to the music, the two finally met each other once more. Grasping each other's hands they kicked out with the opposite foot before doing the same again, using the reverse feet to previously as they did. Releasing Fulla's right hand, she swung her out and back in before Fulla did the exact same.

With that, from the dancers around them, appeared Mim, who symbolized her father that would take her from her childhood and lead her into adulthood, by giving her to her husband. Fulla releasing Sigyn's hand, she gave the princess an encouraging smile before offering a curtsey to her and rejoining the dancers. Mim, looking dapper in the navy of Gastropnir and his blue Markings offering stark contrast to his pale skin, marched to stand before Sigyn, as Jotun fathers were warriors.

The two stood still for only a moment before they both flung themselves in opposite directions, dancing wildly. Sigyn raised her feet high in reckless kicks and swung her gloved hands about in fists—as the dance required. The father's role in a Jotun child's life was to not only protect them, but teach them the art of warfare and fighting. Thusly, it was only customary for the fourth part of the dance to be the most savage, as it was essentially a war dance. Their movements were thrown and wild, as they danced back towards one another, mocking a fight through their kicks and arm movements.

Finally Mim reach out a hand and took up Sigyn's, spinning her once and easily catching her by her elbows before he lead her farther into the hallway, nearing the center. The dancers parted and in the clearing they left was a long figure. Sigyn's breath caught in her throat and she stumbled in her flowing gate at the sight.

It was Loki, his golden horned crown atop his head and the little emerald leaves glittering as the sun from the great glass windows poured in and caught the helm in all its glory. The king wore the emerald of Utgard, pristine white fur about his neck with a gold chain clasped at his throat, holding the cloak to his form. His torso, typically colored with the intricate blue of the Markings, were instead gold, making him appear he was half man, half statue. His piercing emerald eyes were fixed upon her, causing a blush to blossom across her cheeks though she hurriedly diverted her gaze, knowing that she wasn't to make eye contact with him—even though her face was obscured by the veil.

Quickly regaining her footing, she turned back to Mim, who kissed her gloved hand fondly before bowing away. When he was far enough away, he straightened before throwing a kick and spin, retreating to the crowd's dance about them.

Standing perfectly still with a proud, raised head, Sigyn awaited for Loki to step forward and slowly circle her. After a long moment, he finally came to a stop before her and offered his hand to her. Placing her golden gloved hand in his, he easily drew her into him, placing his other hand about her waist while hers rested on his shoulder.

Counting the beats off in her head 'one, two, three, one, two, three' aided by the melody of the music. They sashayed together, their actions starting slowly before the music picked up and so with it, did their feet. Their heels and toes tapped against the stone floors, in faultless harmony for every beat. Their feet against the stone formed its own rhythm, causing the musicians to drive forward ever faster.

Releasing one hand, the two swung about each other, hooking their arms around one another's waists, and spinning about one another, using the other's momentum to go faster and faster. They extended their arms to the dancers, and as they spun, others attempted to come and pull them apart but their grip held fast.

Swinging Sigyn out of the spin, Loki still held fast onto her hand, as the two faced forward and their feet clicked off its continuous melody simultaneously. A glancing kick with the heel off the stones, a double toe tap, a kick to the back then front that swung both of them around—breaking their grip just in time to turn with hindrance and then joining hands once more once both were giving the opposite direction—before taking a small jump and landing together, not a single wobble in their landings.

Their feet made every strike in faultless synchronization as the dancers closed the distance between them and the couple, circling about the pair as they stayed together every beat of the way. The dancers attempted to divert their focus from the dance through their own complicated and intricate steps, but neither paid any mind. Sigyn would later say it was because her mind was so focused on the singular task of guiding her own feet she had little attention to spare on much else.

Finally, the dancers began to form a line around the couple and fall into the steps of Sigyn and Loki until every single guest—all two hundred of them—were moving with the couple, leaping when they leapt, flawlessly keeping rhythm and beat with that of the pair. Sigyn couldn't help from keeping a smile from spreading across her face and a laugh from escaping her lips.

After the week of worrying and agonizing over every step, Sigyn had forgotten what dancing essentially was: fun. Moving in time with all the guests filled her with a sense of extreme amazement and the music carried her along, seeming to wash over her for the first time. It was a river that washed away all her anxieties and worries, leaving her with only the thrill of the dance.

Diverging from the line of dancers of who continued in their steps, Loki led Sigyn by the hand before turning to face her, careful to not look her in the eyes that were barely distinguishable through the veil. Falling back into their position from the beginning of their portion of the dance, they easily glided around the hall together in an elegant waltz that was the most familiar to Sigyn, as waltzing was the favorite form of dance in Asgard.

Loki held her close in his strong arms as they sashayed together, the dancers dispersing from the line and forming couples that began to join in Loki and Sigyn's swirling patterns. Then, when they reached the center of the room after making a complete circuit around, the king slowed his bride and came to a halt. Taking their cue from their monarch, the dancers impeded their movements as well, their complete attention devoted to the king and the woman in his arms.

Knowing this to be her cue, Sigyn released Loki hands, turning away from him as she swayed to the music as it begin to draw into a close, her hands fluttering from side to side. When she was a distance away, she pivoted on her left foot in a slow revolution to face Loki once more. Extending her left hand to him, she took slow galloping steps back to him, doubling back ever few steps and bowing her head shyly. Finally, she returned to him and he held her as he did before. Her leaving and coming back to his side signified her desire to invoke the Fortnight Privilege and Loki's face betrayed no surprise at her citing it.

From the crowd emerged Thiazi, wearing the burgundy and silver of Thrymheim, walking in measured steps and he drew to a stop before the couple. Loki was loathed that he was the man marrying him but it would be highly suspicious for him not to be, being the most powerful lord in Jotunheim and the practical choice for all ceremonies.

There was a pause as he surveyed them with a smile before he started with the Asgardian part of the ceremony, saying, "King Loki, the bride you have chosen has been accepted by the people of Jotunheim. Now I ask not the king, but Loki if he accepts Sigyn of Asgard as his wife to love, cherish, and protect till the end his days. If you do, say aye."

"Aye," Loki said without hesitation.

"And now I ask not Princess Sigyn, but Sigyn if she accepts Loki of Jotunheim as her husband, to love, cherish, and respect till the end of her days. If you do, say aye," Thiazi continued, turning to Sigyn.

Smiling brightly, Sigyn replied, "Aye."

"Now I ask for the rings and crown to be presented," Thiazi announced and at his command Mim and Fulla, both bearing cushions, emerged from the crowd. Both walked with careful steps as upon the emerald cushion that Fulla bore was a twin set of golden rings—an Asgardian tradition—and upon Mim's gold cushion was a glittering crown made of delicate gold leaves that were studded by the occasional emerald leaf. It was identical to the massive crown that rested upon Loki's brow though it lacked the interlocking antlers.

Taking the rings, Thiazi declared, "With these rings, you have sworn to each other as a couple, to be faithful, honest, and true to one another. May these rings be a reminder of that promise." Fulla stepped forward and offered the rings to the couple, Loki taking the smaller one and slipping it onto Sigyn's gloved ring finger before Sigyn did much the same.

After Fulla stepped back, Thiazi continued, gesturing for Mim to step forward, "With this crown, you bear the responsibility to Jotunheim together with your husband, the king." At that, Sigyn knelt onto one knee and Fulla, cushion tucked under one arm, carefully removed her veil. With Sigyn's fiery hair exposed to the crowd, they saw her exotic fiery red curls tamed into an intricate Jotun style and, woven into it, edelweiss only found on the slopes of the Jotun mountains. Thiazi took the offered crown from Mim and, with as much pomp and regality, lowered the crown to rest upon her brow.

"Rise," Thiazi commanded and she did so, pulling herself gracefully up and allowing Jotunheim their first proper look at her. There was a murmur of approval that rippled through the crowd at the fair sight of her. Letting the murmurs continue for only a moment, Thiazi declared, "I know pronounce this couple husband and wife." A mighty roar of cheering went up at that.

Stepping aside, Thiazi allowed Loki to lead Sigyn past him to stand properly before their people. Loki's smile was brilliant, it stretching widely across his face while Sigyn, albeit blushing fiercely, was beaming at the Jotuns—_her_ people. When the applause began to fade, Loki announced to his people, "Jotunheim, I present to thee your Queen, Sigyn of Jotunheim."

The applause that met this rang in the couple's ears and Sigyn glanced up at Loki, who she found was doing much the same. His grip on her hand tightened and together, as King and Queen, they glided from the hall as husband and wife.

* * *

"Aesir century," called the familiar voice of Captain Foreseti over the general din of the mess hall. "Listen up."

All the men, bemoaning the interruption of their meals, reluctantly set aside their bowls of broth and lamb. Thor, seated at his usual table with his fellows, raised a bushy blond eyebrow in silent questioning if anyone knew the reason for their Captain interrupting their meal. Hod silently shrugged while Ull muttered darkly, "It better not be another ten mile march around the city walls." Bragi chuckled at that before they all fell silent as Foreseti continued speaking.

"Orders directly from up-top," he began, "We're marching out by dawn's light tomorrow morning; bring all necessary equipment, men—we're not going to be returning anytime soon. We're being stationed along the Jotunheim border approximately twelve miles south of the Jotun castle of Lyfjaberg." There was a pause as the Captain gazed at all soldiers in the century, all of them regarding him in silent shock and then he continued, "We're going to war, men. Aesir Century dismissed."

With that, the Captain strode from the mess, leaving all the men in shocked silence. Thor could feel the blood drain from his face as he casted a look at his companions. None of them offered any sort of response to this, all of them mirroring Thor's stunned expression. There was only one thought that ran through Thor's mind in a frantic, panicked pace as they all sat in silence: _Sigyn._

* * *

The night air was cool as it travelled through the open rooms of the palace in Idavoll. Most of the inhabitants of the palace had retired for the night, few torches to be seen burning in rooms, though there was one solitary flickering lantern in the Emperor's personal study—a library nearly as large as the palace's main one. Balder sat hunched over a map of Asgard and Jotunheim. He had been sitting in that position for hours, it seemed. Hunched in silence and lost in his own musings, at his father's large study table—more like a banquet table than anything—covered in maps, scrolls, books, and every shred of information he could find that was, even in the most minute way, relevant.

His mind was working a thousand different avenues, all trying to come up with a feasible reason as to why Jotunheim would attack. Was the peace treaty a ploy to trick Asgard into relaxing its defenses? It hardly made any sense, seeing as the Emperor was perhaps only slightly distracted with the northern lords arriving in Idavoll to whine, but the garrisons had yet to pull out of Jotun territory and there was always the western, southern, eastern, and Idavoll's own legions to defend the empire. To assume that Asgard _ever_ had relaxed forces as a gross miscalculation.

Balder's brown brows furrowed as he stared at the little star marked Utgard, thinking of his sister. Today would have been her wedding day, he knew, and he had sent his prayers to her for her to be successful in her challenge. But he worried that perhaps the wedding hadn't taken place; that she had been disposed of by the Jotuns. His mind shied away from the thought; not wanting to even _consider_ the possibility that his sister was harmed in any way. But, he assured himself, it was illogical for the King of Jotunheim to want to hurt her as much as the idea of Asgardian relaxing its defenses had been. He sighed, running a hand through his brown hair.

There was a soft knock on the door and Balder's attention was finally drawn away from his close studies. "Enter," he called. The oaken doors were swung open, allowing entrance to Sif, a lantern that illuminated her delicate features held before her. Balder quirked a brow at the sight, inquiring, "Lady Sif? What can I do for you?"

"Prince Balder, it's too late to be studying," Sif replied in way of response, inclining her head slightly to him.

Balder sighed, saying, "I just can't seem to come to any sort of conclusion or find any answers whatsoever!"

There was a long pause as Balder pushed himself warily up from his chair, putting the maps and scrolls back into order to return to the next morning. "We're worried about you, Balder," Sif replied, entering further into the room.

At this, Balder paused abruptly, looking at Sif out of the corner of his eyes as she set her lantern on the study table before he took a deep breath and continued in his task of sorting. It was something in the way that she had said it, something that implied she was meaning herself in 'we all' and not in a simply friendly way. Balder wrote it off as his sleep deprived mind causing illusions. He was acutely aware of how close Sif was to him though; if he were to just reach out his left arm, he would be able to touch her arm. He studiously ignored that thought and remained silent.

"You have grown so much in the past month, and I'm not just talking about your height and your voice lowering," she continued on, not seeming to notice Balder's actions. She was right; he _had_ grown from his scrawny frame of five foot, two inches, to six-four in only the past four months or so while his voice was becoming steadily deeper. He had hardly noticed the change aside from his tunics needing to be lengthened. "You're becoming a true leader. You'll make a fine emperor; better than Thor would have."

This made Balder stare at her in shock. He couldn't believe that Lady Sif, one of his older brother's closest of companions was saying such things. She drew closer to him still and he fell back a step, bumping into his chair in the process, finding her words revolting. Yet she advanced until she was almost touching him and Balder could smell the stale scent of drink on her. "You're drunk, Lady Sif," he said flatly, not betraying his surprise with the smell yet her voice and frame remained so steady.

Ignoring him, she looked searchingly into his blue eyes and said, "You've really grown handsome." She reached a hand up to trace along his defined jaw and he wrenched out her touch, making him loose his balance and plop back into the chair. Sif seemed quite alright with this new arrangement and she promptly straddled Balder's lap. "You know, I've always thought you to be attractive," she whispered huskily.

"Sif, you're _really_ drunk," Balder exclaimed, trying to push her from his lap but she wouldn't budge. "Sif, this isn't you—" And then he froze. It was a moment of complete and utter shock and for a moment his mind seemed incapable of any rational thought whatsoever. For, just as he was protesting, she had captured his parted lips with his own and she was kissing him fiercely. He wasn't responding to her in the least, as she kissed him, tangling her fingers in his brown hair.

And then his mind kicked in, he pushed her away from him, finally forcing her to relinquish her claim on his lips and she fell away, stunned. Taking advantage of this, he quickly placed her back on her feet before hurriedly standing from the chair and moving away, keeping a wary eye on her. Sif blinked at him for a moment before wobbling, her stunned expression turning into a frown, before she fell into the chair Balder had vacated only moments before.

The prince blinked at her for a long moment before taking a couple of hesitant steps towards her. He was surprised to see she was completely unconscious. Sighing, at least glad for this small mercy, he went to the her side, knowing he couldn't just leave her there for the night—in the morning both her head and cramped muscles would be aching and he at least wanted to spare her _some_ of that pain. After blowing out the lanterns' fire, he easily scooped up her frame, though she was finely muscled, she was light in his arms, he carried her from the Emperor's study, nudging the door open and closed with some difficulty as he did.

As he walked through the deserted hallways towards her chambers, his mind agonized over the events that had only just transpired. Replaying her arrival, her words, and finally the stale taste of drink in her kiss in his mind, his thoughts grew more confused and muddled with every step he took. How had she even found him tucked away in the Emperor's study? It was a highly trafficked part of the palace and no one beside his father knew he was there for the evening. It simply didn't make one bit of sense; it was completely illogical.

Finally, he reached her chambers and, pushing aside the curtain that served as her door, he entered into her bedchamber, placing her gently onto her pallet. After pulling off her boots, he spread a blanket over her form. She looked so peaceful sleeping there and Balder was confused afresh, as he felt something stir inside his chest. Shaking himself from these thoughts, he turned and exited, setting his feet in the direction of his own chambers.

When he reached the royal wing of the palace, his stride slowed and he glanced warily about. Something seemed wrong, something in the air made his skin prickle and his step to become silent. Reaching for the knife clipped to his belt, Balder continued silently down the hallway towards the open doorway of his rooms. He pressed his back against the wall when he reached it, peering wearily into the room. He could see his pallet outlined in the moonlight that came in through the wide, airy windows and furrowed his brows at the sight.

His pillows and blankets were ripped to shreds, feathers covered the pallet and the ground around it, a murder scene or so it appeared. Tightening his grip on his dagger, Balder shuffled away from the wall, sucked in a silent breath for courage, and ventured into his bedchamber.

It was over before he entirely knew what had happened; he heard a rustling sound from directly to his left and he just had enough time to swing his dagger, making a dull thud in its target. With wide-eyes he watched as a man fell to the cool stone floor of his bedchamber, a blade falling away from his grasp, as he clutched a scarlet flower of blood blossoming from his stomach. The man, silent as his tongue was cut from his mouth, opened his mouth in a mute cry of agony, blood leaking from his mouth like pleas for mercy, before he went limp.

Balder watched all of this in silent horror. He didn't know how long he stood there—it felt like hours must have passed—but finally, he bent, wiped his blade clean of blood on the man's black attire, before standing and exiting his bedchamber, dagger still drawn, in search of guards to clean up the mess.

* * *

**A/N: **Many notes about this chapter! For the dances, I tried to stick to one type of dance per portion with it being as follows: Menglad's section- traditional waltz, the women's circle-ballet, Fulla-swing, Mim-war dance, Loki-River dance (traditional Jotun style of dance) and waltzing again. Also, sorry for Thor's small appearance, but he and the Aesir gang will have more screen time coming up! And, I've figured that Sif is about seventeen while Balder is (almost) fifteen and I know she's a little out of character but she's drunk, _really_ drunk. Okay, I'm done now! Thank you for reading and please leave a review!


	15. The Fortnight Privilege

**Chapter Fifteen—The Fortnight Privilege**

**Warnings: **Intimacy

**Fun Fact: **Mim's character was originally created to be a wise, older brother figure to Loki. Obviously that didn't happen.

* * *

"And how are you, you crazy love bird, this morning?" Mim greeted as he strode into the throne room, scrolls underarm, smiling brightly at the haggard King Loki who was perched high upon his throne. Loki's green eyes were underlined with dark blotches, presumably from not sleeping the previous night with all the festivities taking place. Mim, who had left Loki to his guests nearing midnight, had a suspicion the good people of Jotunheim wouldn't let their king be for another few hours and decided he wasn't needed for the time. Seeing the king now, Mim knew those 'few hours' had turned into an all-night reception of the king receiving his people's congratulations.

Loki narrowed his green eyes at his friend, saying, "Mim, could you not speak so loudly?"

Mim grinned happily at him before saying, "I'm having some strong tea being sent up to you. Despair not, my friend!" Loki's expression was the farthest thing from despair but he offered no reply whatsoever to Mim. Seeing that he wasn't much in the mood for merriment, Mim sighed and set his bundle of scrolls down upon a table not far away from the throne. "Down to business then, eh? I have news."

"I can only assume its bad, seeing as that's all we get nowadays," Loki mumbled dryly as he pushed himself up from the throne and shuffled down the dais, to stand with Mim.

Mim's grim expression was enough confirmation that Loki was right before the royal advisor continued, saying, "We just received a report that the assassin Scirner, to be sent into the Arena today, escaped."

"Last night?" Loki questioned with a raised brow.

"No," Mim replied, shaking his head, "Apparently four nights ago. The Arena guards didn't think to check if there was an occupant in his cell until this morning."

Sighing, Loki ran a hand through his sleek, black hair. "Why is it that the palace guards, men who are supposed to be the most highly trained in all of Jotunheim, have twice failed with letting three assassins in and one out?"

"Perhaps because the guard isn't trained to fight against those within in the palace," replied Mim darkly.

Loki glanced at Mim, darkly before instructing, "Send for the Captain of the guard to present himself before in my study. I need to speak with him personally on this matter—as well as organize a search for the assassin. Is there any indication on where he might have gone?"

"None," Mim replied with a shrug, digging through his mound of scroll work, coming up with one sealed with crimson wax, the seal of Vingolf. Quirking a heavy brow at this, Mim slid a finger through the seal and unfurled the parchment on the table before him. His eyes darted across the lines of scrawl, a dark expression clouding his face.

Loki, watching keenly, demanded, "What is it?"

Before Mim could answer, the doors of the throne room swung open and in strode Lord Thiazi, his appearance well rested, a stark contradiction to that of the king. The man's burgundy cloak, the color of dried blood. Mim narrowed his eyes at the sight of the man, doing little to cover his sheer loathing of the Lord of Thrymheim. "Good morning, your Majesty," Thiazi greeted, with a courteous nod.

At this, Loki's emerald eyes took on a wary light. His distrust in the lord before him ran deeply within him and, currently, it was urging him to call in his guards immediately, to escort this man to the safest cell in the deepest, darkest depths of Utgard's dungeons, promptly installing a constant surveillance of the man. But, that would be an act of war and the men of Thrymheim were quick to anger, so all he could do at that moment was allow Thiazi to sweep into the throne room as if he, Thiazi of Thrymheim, were king and not Loki of Utgard.

Loki resented him for being the man to marry him and his queen, he resented him for holding such power over his head, but he resented himself the most of all, for ever thinking it wise to place his trust in this man. Loki had often wondered what his foolish mind had been thinking when entrusting Thiazi with his plans for the treaty; he supposed he thought it wise to immediately seek an ally with the most powerful man in Jotunheim but how could he have not considered that this man, more powerful, experienced, and wise than the new king—who was not even twenty years of age—would never yield so easily to Loki's will?

Thiazi could easily overthrow Loki, should he gain enough support from the other warlords, which would be a trivial task with how much they feared him, and it seemed Thiazi was doing just that. Loki knew it shouldn't surprise him, the only way for a warlord to maintain the power that Thiazi did was to be a cunning and manipulative strategist. He was just loathed to think he was a powerless player in this game and Thiazi held all the pieces.

"Good morning to you, Lord Thiazi," replied Loki, schooling his expression into that of polite friendliness and doing well to keep his suspicion from his voice.

"I've come this morning to offer my assistance to you, your Majesty," Thiazi continued, seeming to have decided after the slight he had been paid with not being informed of the assassins, he was not to be left out of the king's council for any instance. Noticing that Mim held a scroll aloft, he practically ordered, "Continue from where you were."

Mim stole a glance at Loki, obviously demanding if it wise to read the contents of the parchment to Thiazi. Reluctantly, Loki nodded. He could do little to stop Thiazi at that point without raising suspicion. Clearing his throat, Mim said, grimly, "It seems that Lord Asynjur of Vingolf's forces have attacked an Asgardian garrison two nights past. His wife, who says she thinks her husband is 'quite of his mind' wrote as soon as she could." Mim looked up from the parchment, his face dark, and casted a suspicious glance at Thiazi. There was little doubt in his mind that Lord Asynjur's—a close ally of Thiazi—seeming insanity was somehow the doing of the Lord of Thrymheim.

Loki closed his eyes, reining in his frustration as best he could. Why was that when he was distracted for a wedding for only two days, everything suddenly went straight to Helheim?

"We must send a force down to regulate Vingolf immediately. I want Lord Asynjur to be brought back to Utgard for questioning and royal guardsmen to be stationed throughout the territory of Vingolf. Also, dispatch a swift messenger to Idavoll urgently. With any luck, we can avoid disaster," Loki commanded, Mim immediately scribbling down his orders as he said them. Loki didn't mention that Jotunheim had been teetering on the brink of complete disaster since his coronation and a deep dread in the pit in his stomach told him that this is what finally pushed them over.

"Your Majesty," Thiazi spoke up, almost instantly after Loki had concluded his orders. "I offer myself to lead this company to Vingolf to negotiate with Lord Asynjur and bring him to Utgard. He is a childhood friend of mine and I feel he would listen to me."

At this, Mim's eyes widened in disbelief, an acidic retort on the tip of his tongue that he thankfully held. Loki, meanwhile, knew better than to let his feelings, much akin to Mim's expression, show on his face. A fiery hatred burned in the pit of the king's stomach and he wanted nothing more than to take Gungnir from its stand and pierce it through the lord's heart— using magic wouldn't have satisfied his bloodlust. Yet, all he said was, "I'm placing my trust in you, Lord Thiazi."

* * *

Loki's vision focused from blackness, the nothingness being replaced by pale light. Collecting himself from his bed of snow, he retreated into the yawning mouth of the cave before him, the sheer cliffs to his back, not allowing the biting cold to embed itself in his bones. Stepping into the warmth of the cave—which must have been heated from the massive wolf that currently lay leisurely at the cavern's center—Loki shook the stray snowflakes from his black hair.

He casted an unimpressed expression at the large wolf before him, Fenrir's eyes obviously holding amusement at Loki's frustration. He honestly couldn't decide on why Fenrir had decided to plague him with sporadic dream-trips—Loki wasn't entirely sure what he was to refer to his meetings with the King of the Beasts as—when he needed all the sleep he could; especially with the current state of affairs Jotunheim was in. It certainly did not help in the least that Fenrir, amused by the antics of mortals, only seemed to find Loki's annoyance all the more amusing.

"Greetings, little king," Fenrir rumbled, his voice just as deafening as Loki remembered.

"The same to you, King of the Beasts," Loki replied, attempting to keep the dryness from his voice.

Fenrir either did not notice or simply didn't care about Loki's current mood. Instead observing, "It seems events are already being set in motion." Loki bit back a remark about how that was extraordinarily unhelpful and cryptic. "Little king, the fates have predicted this for thousands of years. You must right a mistake and restore Jotunheim to glory."

This piqued Loki's interest. "What is it you mean by that?" he inquired urgently. Fenrir fixed him with his pair of icy blue eyes that sent shivers coursing through Loki's body. He offered no reply and next Loki knew, he was sitting up, panting in the king's chambers. He was soaked in sweat, but instead of puzzlement, he was filled with frustration. He cursed the air and, giving up on sleep for that night, busied his thoughts with the problem of Vingolf.

* * *

Sigyn had seen little of Loki the past two days since the wedding. The newly married king and queen took evening meals together, though they sat at opposite ends of an extensive feast table. They were not only separated by mounds of stemming food but also guests eager for both the Majesties' attentions, making conversing between the two was near impossible.

In between meals, with the king busy with state affairs and a lack of dancing to drill into her aching feet, Sigyn found herself wasting most of her days away in the palace's library and the small garden tucked just outside the magnificent glass doors of the was strangely liberating to just sit and read as she pleased. She felt like the wedding had stolen away her right to be herself and now that it was over, she was free to do just that: act like Sigyn.

Though the collection was expansive, Sigyn noticed that the library was used rarely by her fellow inhabitants of Utgard. The few that she recognized in there regularly besides the servants for dusting, were old, shriveled scholars that mostly kept to their astute studies. When she occasionally caught their eye, they would nod politely to her, befitting her position as the queen, and return to their manuscripts.

The morning of the third day after the wedding, Sigyn was journeying to the library through the winding corridors of Utgard—waving hello to those she recognized—with Fulla at her elbow. "Fulla, I was wondering," Sigyn was saying as the two descended the main stairway from the east wing. "Why is the library so underused?"

Fulla didn't reply immediately as they passed a serving maid, who had respectfully stepped aside for the queen, bowing to her as they passed. Sigyn casted the maid a warm smile before she turned her attention back to Fulla when they were well past her. "Well, unlike most Asgardians, the Jotuns don't place that much value in literacy. Nobility can read and write but very rarely would they find enjoyment in spending time doing it," Fulla replied before adding after a pause, "Queen Farbauti was an exception to that, she was known for her love of reading and I've heard that she taught that to her son."

At this, Sigyn's lips quirked into a grin. They spent the rest of the journey in companionable silence until they reached the library. Pausing before going to peruse the bookshelves, Sigyn turned to Fulla saying, "You needn't stay with me. I'll meet you for the noontime meal."

"Well, I'll leave you to your books, then," Fulla replied with a teasing wink. The queen shook her head fondly, watching the maid exit the library with smile playing on her lips. Returning her attention to the bookshelves, she meandered along, browsing through the rather narrow selection of fiction that was offered. She felt guilty for dragging Fulla to the library for the past two days, knowing the maid wasn't nearly as interested in reading about far-off lands and tales of heroics as Sigyn was and decided that, as a way of showing her gratitude for all that her maid did for her, would give her the morning off.

Selecting a loosely bound manuscript entitled, 'Hagbard and Signy,' Sigyn made her way to her usual reading location—a sturdy table with selections from the previous days she had yet to return to there appropriate locations still there in hazardous mounds. She would usually move into the garden later into the morning, when the sun breached the high walls around it and warmed it. Settling herself, she paged through the table of contents and to the first chapter, eagerly beginning into the tale.

Ever since she was little girl, when her mother used to tell her tales to lull her to sleep, Sigyn was drawn to stories of adventures and romance. She supposed that she was taken with the idea of excitement—so different from her palace life—and the magical connection that always seemed to spark between the two love-interests in the sagas she devoured. When she was younger, it was an escape from her tedious duties as a princess but now that she was a married woman, a queen of a foreign country, she recognized her still clinging to this girlish habit and passion of hers as childish.

Perhaps it was simply that it was familiar. Perhaps she was now reading these romances in the vain hope that she could find a semblance in the characters, who were in deep, true love, and herself, as she tried to piece together what her feelings were for the man she had married. Whatever the reason was, Sigyn returned to the library day after day.

"A bit of light reading, my lady?" came a deep, smooth voice that sent Sigyn's heart pounding. Gulping down her nerves, she easily recognized that voice, she glanced up from her volume—a thick one which was the farthest thing from light reading—to find the king, looking handsome as he was bathed in the late morning sun that streamed in through the windows. She had been so adsorbed in her reading she hadn't noticed the passing of time or that the king had entered the library.

He stood at the opposite side of the table, his black brows quirked at her and a smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. Her cheeks flushed under his intense, emerald gaze. Whether from embarrassment or just his mere presence, she wasn't sure. "I wouldn't exactly call this 'light,' my lord," she replied, through her growingly flustered thoughts.

An amused grin now fought its way onto his face and he asked, "And what is your heavy reading, then?" She knew he was teasing her but she still put up protest as he easily plucked the volume from beneath her hands. Keeping her current page marked with a finger, he flipped it to read the cover's title. Arching both his brows as he read it, he commented, "Hagbard and Signy? So you like romantic tales, then?"

Accepting the volume back when he offered it, Sigyn replied, "I suppose I always was taken with the idea of true love."

"Truly?" he inquired, his surprised betrayed in his voice.

"Truly," replied Sigyn before asking, with furrowed brows, "Why does that surprise you so?"

Loki shrugged, saying, "I would have thought that as being a princess, you would have been raised with knowing you would some day be married off to a man, with or without your consent." Hearing this, Sigyn felt her heart sink for some reason not entirely known to her.

"I _did _think that, yes," Sigyn replied before looking sharply at Loki, "But I also thought perhaps that arranged marriage could lead to love." Loki opened his mouth to reply to this, his amused grin evaporating from his lips but she spoke before he could, saying, "And, in case you wondering, my lord, I wasn't forced into coming to Jotunheim and marrying you. It was I that made the final decision."

There was a pause. Sigyn could feel her face turning a brilliant shade of red from her humiliation for her bold words. Loki blinked his emerald eyes at her in shock before, resolutely making up his mind, he rounded the table, sinking onto a knee at her side and taking possession of one of her hands. "My lady, I meant not to insult you or insinuate anything. I was trying to tease you. Please forgive me and allow me to make it up to you some way?"

Sigyn stared at him for a long moment. She was ashamed of herself for letting her emotions get the better of her—he was simply teasing her was; after all, didn't they spend much of their time as the guard and the princess teasing each other?—and she now identified that unknown feeling that made her heart plummet as that of rejection; that Loki did not return her growing—what she thought were—feelings for him. Seeing him now before her, the picture of remorse and obviously caring for her thoughts of him, she felt nothing but a sudden humiliation at herself as a whole, not just her words. Why was she such a fool around him?

Resolutely deciding to not let him affect her so, to not let him make her act like an idiot, and instead to simply be Sigyn, she said, with a lopsided grin, "Firstly, you can apologize by helping me by put away my books."

Loki was silent for a moment as his emerald eyes seemed to lighten with the sight of her grin upon him. A smile returned to his face and he jestingly said, "Ah, my lady is cruel!"

"You've been spending far too much time with Mim," she replied, chuckling at his antics, before placing a stack of the heavier books in his muscular arms—her cheeks flushed upon looking at them, forcibly tearing her gaze away—after Loki had collected himself to his feet.

"'Pyramus and Thisbe?'" Loki intoned, reading off the title of the book at the top of the heap he currently held, effortlessly. "Didn't Pyramus overact when he found Thisbe's scarf covered in blood and killed himself? An Asgardian tale if I've ever read one."

"This coming from the king who's country has the legend of Hagbard who cries out poetry as he's hung," Sigyn replied, her cheeks red despite her best efforts.

"A fair point, my lady," Loki replied as he followed Sigyn, with her own armload of manuscripts, to the bookshelves. They worked in silence to replace the works in their proper locations until finally Loki spoke, saying, "I must leave you to collect what I came in for." Seeing Sigyn's curious expression, he clarified, "Last year's tax records; very exciting. But, if you'd do me the honor of meeting me in the entrance hall tomorrow an hour before noon, I want to make to show how truly sorry I am for my thoughtlessness."

Sigyn paused in replacing the tale of Isolde and Tristan—yesterday afternoon's reading—turning her blue eyes on him. She considered him for a long moment before a smile flitted across her face. "Yes, of course. I look forward to it."

"Wonderful," he said with a smile. "Wear something the Jotun people would proud to see their queen in." Sigyn opened her mouth to retort, but with a flash of his teasing grin, the king was striding across the library, making his way to the many shelves that held years upon years worth of records. Watching him go, Sigyn's blue eyes were fixed on his back, his defined muscles rippling underneath his pale skin in clear view without his customary emerald cloak. She promptly tore her gaze away, chiding herself.

* * *

"Stop fidgeting, Sigyn!" cried Fulla, exasperated as she attempted to pin up the queen's curling, red hair with the princess shifting around all the while, her nerves getting the better of her. It was challenging enough to tame the curls, but to attempt to do so while the head of hair was bobbing about was more than even Fulla's clever fingers could manage.

"I'm sorry, Fulla," Sigyn apologized promptly, settling herself as best she could. Her stomach was full of knots and as she swallowed, she found her throat to be dry. Shifting gave her mind something to focus upon but now that sat still, she felt as though her nerves were going to eat her alive or perhaps she would die from them altogether. Knowing not to voice those thoughts, Fulla would simply roll her eyes fondly and tease her about it later, Sigyn resigned herself to sitting still, much to her chagrin.

"Did Mim mentioned anything about the king's plans?" Sigyn inquired after a long beat of silence, her curiousity gnawing away at her, especially since all she could do now was think instead of fidget.

"No, he didn't," Fulla replied, shaking her head before adding, "Though I've had little opportunity to speak with him lately. I suppose he's been terribly busy. It seems like _everyone_ around the palace is, except for us."

"It _was _relaxing to be idle for the first few days after the wedding," Sigyn mused before adding, "But now it's plainly boring."

Fulla made a noise of agreement in her throat and carefully fixed a simple circlet into the red curls, giving the queen a dignified look, before proclaiming, "There! Done."

Practically springing to her feet, Sigyn grabbed her emerald cloak, saying, "Thank you, Fulla! I'll see you when I return!" Shaking her head as the queen very nearly sprinted from the chamber, Fulla smiled fondly. It was good to see her mistress this way. After the complete panic and worry that plagued her, Fulla now could see that Sigyn was very plainly, very simply, falling in love. And Fulla could think of no other who deserved it more than she.

Less than two minutes later, Sigyn slowed her hared paced as she reached the top of the stairs that descended into the main floor of the palace and the entrance hall. She carefully smoothed down her hair, the curls miraculously having stayed in place, and then righting her sky blue dress and emerald cloak about her shoulders. Straightening her back, holding herself like a queen, she descended the stairs with as much grace as she possibly could.

Standing in the entrance hall, talking in a low voice with a man that Sigyn recognized as Lord Aurentil, was the king, dressed in riding breeches and his customary emerald cloak once more about his shoulders. Catching sight of her descending towards them, Loki casted a brief nod and friendly smile to the lord, who bowed respectfully and departed. The king returned his attention to his queen, mounting a few steps to offer his hand to her. Leading her down and not releasing her hand as he guided her through the hall and towards the great, yawning entrance of the palace, Loki said, genuinely, "You look lovely."

The compliment immediately casted a pink hue onto her face. Doing her utmost best to ignore this, she inquired, "What is it you have planned for us today?" By that time, they had reached the top of the stairway that led down to the main courtyard. At the base of the steps, attended by a pair of stable boys, was Sigyn's palomino, Sinir, and a magnificent black stallion that Sigyn remembered Loki telling her about when he was still playacting as a guard. If what he had said was true, that was the horse gifted to him by Laufey and raised from a colt by Loki himself. The stallion was a fine beast and seemed just as proud and noble as his master.

"We're going riding," Loki replied, simply, as they descended the steps. He offered no explanation beyond that, despite Sigyn's best efforts, and he courteously helped her mount her palfrey and, astride his own stallion, the two departed from the courtyard. Leading her across the drawbridge and away from the main road, Sigyn was left to speculate as to their destination.

Casting an astute eye over their horses, she noticed Loki's saddlebags were full of something while Sinir had no saddlebags to speak of. This made her eyebrows quirk in a way that sent a smile onto Loki's face at his own cleverness. "Do not worry, my queen, we're not traveling far."

"I had little concern for that," she replied, almost dryly as the two made their way onto a hunting path that led them through the forest.

Not replying to her comment, though he obviously heard it due to wink he sent her, he said, waving a hand to indicate his mouth, "This is Gyllir, the horse I told you of. I wasn't lying to you about him being given to me by my father."

"At least you know how to be truthful in some instances, then," Sigyn teased, though she did so lightly. As she said this, the hunting trial bended around a thicket of trees and from behind it appeared a modest village situated into a sizable clearing. There were no more seven huts with thatched straw roofs. Lazy smoke spirals drifted from chimneys while little, immaculately kept gardens were dotted with men, women, and children, all dressed in simple, homespun clothes. At the sight of the king, children left off their work and ran towards them, laughing and waving.

"This is the village of Utgard," Loki explained to Sigyn with a fond smile. "I often visited here when I was still a prince. I thought perhaps you should begin to know your people, as Queen."

At this point, the children had reached Gyllir's side, who surprisingly did not spook despite the children practically clamoring all over his neck. Instead, the stallion simply lowered his great black snout and gently blew a warm breath over the children's faces, making them giggle. Loki swung from his saddle, greeting them as he did.

"Your Majesty!" all the children chorused in return before a little girl with a missing tooth pointed to Sigyn and asked in a small voice, like a frail bird, "Who's that?"

A boy, her elder by a few years, promptly shushed her, saying, "Don't be rude, Hildie." At this, the little girl's face fell from its smile, upset.

"No, no, it is alright, little Brunhilde," Loki assured, scooping up the little girl and ruffling her brown ringlets of hair. She giggled at that, looping her arms around his neck as he carried her over to Sinir's side, her dark gray eyes fixed curiously on Sigyn. "Say hello to her Majesty, Hildie."

"'Lo, your Majesty," she mumbled, her face turning red with embarrassment before she buried her face into Loki's neck. Sigyn smiled at the little girl before swinging herself down from Sinir so that she was eyelevel with Hildie.

The little girl turned her head to peer curiously at the queen. "Hello, Hildie," Sigyn said, gently, "Its nice to meet you."

The little girl blinked at Sigyn for a moment before asking, apparently as bravely as she could, "Why is your hair red? Did magic to do it?"

Sigyn chuckled at that before offering a stray lock to her. "No, it grows out of my head this color. You can touch it if you'd like."

Leaning forward in Loki's hold, she very carefully touched a finger to Sigyn's hair, amazement written across her face as she did. Taking away her finger, she studied it for a moment, seeing if there was any red color on it. When she was satisfied that there wasn't, Hildie gave a bright smile to Sigyn before turning to Loki and quite seriously asking, "May her Majesty carry me?"

Loki laughed before sending an inquiring look to Sigyn, who nodded, and soon Brunhilde was situated in the queen's arms. The other children, having watched the exchange with wonder, crowded around eagerly now, all asking questions of the 'red lady.' Loki settled them by saying, "Everyone, this is Queen Sigyn, from Asgard."

This proclamation was met with a chorus of 'oh' from all the children. At that point, two of the adults had abandoned their fieldwork to join the gaggle of children surrounding the monarchs. When they were near enough to recognize their sovereign king, they respectfully bowed to him. The chief of the village, a man with a head of graying hair, came forth first, the children parting respectfully before him so that he could bow before the king. "Gmot, my old friend," Loki said, offering his hand. Gmot, returning the king's smile, accepted the offered hand and the two clasped each other by the forearm, showing their respect for one another.

"It's been many moons since you've visited us, your Majesty, and I must congratulate you on all that has happened since," Gmot replied, his voice tinged with age yet still hale and strong.

"And I must apologize for my absence," Loki replied. In truth, he had been yearning to visit the smallest yet most familiar village in Utgard's territory ever since the state of affairs had taken a decided turn for the worst. He knew he could not spare much time away from the palace, allowing the nation to be run without his aid, but the simple, solitude offered to him by the village was a peace that he had been wanting desperately to escape to. He could afford to show his wife Jotunheim in this small way for at least one afternoon; after all, Thiazi wasn't due back for another week or so, given how long it took to travel to and from Vingolf and how long persuading Asynjur would take.

"Any visit we can get from our king is fine by us," a stout woman with steely gray hair added as she joined Gmot.

"Hlín, I hope all fairs well?" Loki nodding to the matron.

Hlín, with a scowl that hid a smile, replied, "As well as it ever does. And, as ever, you are a thin as a beanpole. You just wait for a moment and we'll see about whipping something up for you and your lady."

"No, thank you, Hlín. I appreciate your offer, but after our visit, my lady and I are going up to the falls for a picnic," Loki declined, shaking his head.

"The falls? Well, well, then," Hlín said, sending a wink to Sigyn, "Lucky lass."

Gmot, shaking his head at that, interrupted before Hlín could say much else, "If I could take a moment of your time, your Majesty?"

"Of course," Loki nodded before turning to Sigyn and giving her a smile that asked for her permission to leave her side. Sigyn nodded, shifting Hildie's weight in her arms as she did.

Hlín and Sigyn, both still surrounded by the gaggle of children, watched the men go. After a moment, the matron turned to the children, barking, "On with ye, the lot of you! Go on!" Giggling, they dispersed in groups under Hlín's hawkish watch, all chattering excitedly. Then she turned her stern gaze onto Hildie, who grinned winningly. "That means you too, lamb. You go join your brother."

Letting her down, Sigyn bid Hildie goodbye. After touching Sigyn's hair reverently one final time, Hildie ran off to join her brother, the little boy who had shushed her earlier, waving a hand to Sigyn as she went. "Isn't she the sweetest little thing?" Hlín questioned, looking after the little girl with a warm smile.

"Is she your daughter?" asked Sigyn, turning her own smile from the little girl's retreating back to look inquiringly at Hlín.

"Nay," the matron replied, shaking her head. "Gmot and I took her in after her father was killed, fighting along the border two summers back. Her mother died giving birth to her, leaving Hildie and Budli—her brother—all alone in the world with her father gone. They've been living with us ever since."  
Sigyn nodded, suddenly looking at Hlín and Hildie in a new light. The little girl was just like her; General Iwadli, her father, had been slain in a border skirmish and her mother, Freya, had passed away giving birth to her, leaving her in the care of her birth parent's close friends, the Emperor and Queen, who became her true parents. Growing up, it was Queen Frigga that had held her hand, both literally and metaphorically, as she struggled with coming to terms about being an adopted member of the family, like she wasn't a _true_ member of it. It was only through her mother's kindness that she realized that she _was _Odin and Frigga's daughter, blood not being a factor, and they loved her for and despite of it.

Watching Hildie, the sun catching in her dark brown tresses and giving her a golden halo, Sigyn decided that the petite girl had a protector and patron in the queen. This thought made her stop. Was this what Loki wanted by bringing her? To show her little Hildie, who was just like her when she was a little girl? That she was just like Jotun people? Before she could think much more on it, Hlín was towing her along, saying something about showing her the village's prized goat.

* * *

An hour later, Loki was leading Sigyn along a narrow path, the horses doing well to pick their ways past bramble and thistle patches. They had left the village behind for the cool shade of the forest once more, the children presenting a flower crown for Sigyn before they mounted up, which she now wore instead of her circlet, which was stowed in one of the saddlebags courtesy of Loki.

As they readied to depart, Hlín handed Sigyn a strawberry pie with a conspiring wink, before she had returned to Gmot's side. Looking down at the pie that was now situated in the saddle in front of her, Sigyn grinned. Turning her attention to Loki's back, she asked, "Loki, is Hlín always like that?"

Not needing any clarification on what Sigyn meant by 'like that,' Loki's chuckle floated back to her ears before he replied, "I'm afraid so. Even when she talks to the highest of lords, she'll still treat them like anyone else." He paused for a moment before adding, "When I was little, my mother used to especially visit her for her pies and I often went along."

"She certainly knows how to mother anyone," Sigyn replied. The two fell silent after that, listening to the birds chatter to one another in the treetops above them. They road for a few more minutes when she heard it. It was a low rumbling with an overlaying of what seemed to be a great 'whoosing' noise. Then, they broke from the path and into another clearing. Instead of a village, this was one occupied by a waterfall that rose up before them, tumbling down from a cliff face, before flowing into the forest to the right of their vantage point atop the crest overlooking the falls and river.

Sliding from the saddle and coming to Sinir's side, Loki offered his hand to her, saying, "My lady, if you'll accept my apology?"

Smiling, she allowed him to help her down from her palfrey, even though she was more than capable of swinging down on her own. As soon as her feet were safely on the ground, she smiled to him, saying, "Apology accepted."

Smiling charmingly, Loki relinquished his hold on her hands, saying, "The cooks packed a feast in your honor, my lady." He hurried back to Gyllir, relieving the horse of its load of saddlebags, placing them neatly on the emerald green grass before taking Gyllir and Sinir's reins and leading them to a tree, tying them up.

"I'm sure it was in _your_ honor, my lord," replied Sigyn, watching him for a moment before moving to inspect the contents of the saddlebags. She was hyper sensitive to his movements and she determinedly ignored this.

Returning to her side, drawing a quilt from one of the saddlebags, Loki settled it onto the grass and gestured to it. "Your throne, Queen Sigyn."

Knowing she was blushing fiercely, she settled herself primly onto the blanket, gathering her skirts about her as though it really were throne. Loki watched her, amusement clearly written across his face, before setting out their spread onto the provided metal dinnerware the kitchen had packed them. At the sight, Sigyn's eyes widened and she made a mental note to send her gratitude to the cooks.

Before them was smoked ham, roasted chicken, a plethora of cheeses, grapes—a delicacy even in Asgard, where they were grown in the south, in Jotunheim, they were near impossible to find—fresh apples, olives, a selection of breads, a jug of lemon water, a bottle of mead, and Hlín's strawberry pie. "Well, this is certainly a feast fit for a king," Sigyn observed.

"And queen," Loki added with a wink. Her blue gaze darted away from him, embarrassed, and she could see him watching her intently from the corner of his eyes. She busied herself with selecting her food while he sat, immobile. After a long moment, he spoke, "What did you think of the village? Other than Hlín, that is?"

Glancing up at him, a giggle managed to escape Sigyn's lips. He grinned at the sound as it stirred something within him. He hadn't really noticed it before but the simple smiles and laughs he coaxed from her warmed him. He had a suspicion for a time that a treacherous part of his mind, the part of him that paid little heed to rational thought and logic, was completely enamored and Sigyn was his sole fixation. He had done his absolute best to ignore this, with the chaos that Thiazi was causing and all the details of the wedding to fret over, but now that the ceremony had passed smoothly and the troublesome lord was in the south, his mind had little to distract him from _her._

"Did you take me there on purpose, knowing of Hildie?" she asked, with an accusing eyebrow arched at him but the effect was offset but the blush that tinted her skin.

"Do you accuse me of such a thing?" Loki replied, jestingly.

"That I do," she replied, boldly.

This surprised a chuckle from him and he replied, "Then I suppose you caught me, my lady. Though the original intention was to simply get you to know Jotunheim's people and you them. And to keep my sanity."

This made her eyebrows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"Simply that all the warlords are going to drive me into an early grave," Loki replied, keeping his tone light, regretting saying anything about it at all. She didn't know about the current situation with Thiazi and he didn't want to dampen the day's light mood by telling her of it or allowing his own thoughts to linger upon it.

Reading Loki's expression inquisitively, Sigyn knew that something was darkening his thoughts but she knew better than to pry. It was a look she had seen her father wear and he would not speak of what bothered him until he was ready. When he _was_ ready, he would speak of it to her mother on his own terms, and so Sigyn decided to do much the same as Queen Frigga did. Instead, she smiled at him, saying, "Then put them from your mind for the afternoon and help me eat all this food."

Loki was more than willing to follow her advice. After that, Loki was determined to not dampen the lightness between them. He spent the afternoon flirting with his wife, relishing in her blushes, sighing contentedly at her laughs, and craving her smiles upon him. It was when she laid out upon the quilt after both ate their fill, Loki doing much the same though he propped himself up with his arm, letting his gaze absorb the blissfully serene image she projected that he inquired what had he had been thinking of for the past day or so, "I've been wondering ever since I managed to stick my foot in my mouth yesterday, what you meant by love can grow from arranged marriages."

"Well," Sigyn began, awkwardly, opening one of her eyes to peer at him before closing it again. "I suppose just what it sounds like."

"I'm just wandering if you think it possible for two people, together because of duty, can ever fall in love," Loki said, softly.

Her cheeks, having returned to their normal color for perhaps the first time that afternoon, suddenly began to tint once more. There was a moment before she replied. "I don't think it would so much be falling but more learning to love."

When Loki did not offer a reply, Sigyn cracked open her eyelids to peer cautiously over at him; she found him studying her, as if deciding something. There was something in his emerald eyes that sent shivers coursing through her, from her head to her toes, and sent her heart fluttering like a butterfly trying to escape the confines of her chest. He was so close to her, if she just raised her head slightly, she could kiss his perfectly curved mouth—

Her thoughts where halted abruptly when Loki brought his other hand, the other one not propping his head up, to run his fingers gently along her jaw-line. His eyes traced his hand's movement and as he, came her chin, shifted his emerald gaze to meet hers. Thumbing her delicate pink lips, she gave the smallest of nods, then she felt warm breath against her cheeks as he bent his head to press against hers. Their lips met on instinct, as her eyes fluttered closed, all her focus solely devoted to the feel of his lips against hers.

His lips moved against hers, leaving the taste of sweet grapes and lemons though something else was hinted underneath, something more cold and icy was behind his kiss. Had her mind not been so devoted to the man that held her close, she would have wandered if this coldness in him was Jotunheim. He was the heir of the house of Utgard, the King of Jotunheim. He _was _Jotunheim. But her mind paid little attention to such speculations.

At first they were sweet and lingering and then, after they parted for breath, she pulled his mouth back to hers, their embrace becoming passionate and warm. Sigyn could feel his tongue press against her lips, asking for permission to enter, and she obligingly parted her mouth to allow for it. They soon become breathless but neither allowed themselves to linger long in regaining their breath before they returned to their embrace, neither satisfied.

Finally, Sigyn, regretfully, commented on the low position of the sun. The trip back to Utgard was short made long with the king halting occasionally to steal lingering kisses from his queen.

* * *

Sigyn's long, limber fingers nervously plucked at the snow white fur that lined her emerald gown that clung loosely to her figure, only bound by the thin strips of leather at her waist. Her fiery red hair was pulled back to emphasis her long, slender neck that plunged down with the deeply cut collar of the gown—scandalous by both Jotun and Asgardian standards.

Taking one last look at herself in her full-length mirror, she snatched her heavy cloak from its peg, swirling it about her to cover her risqué clothing before hurrying from her chambers.

She had given Fulla the night off, insisting she spend the evening as she pleased, which meant that she was alone in her decision of clothing. Smoothing nervous hands over her gown as she stole down the stairs of the tower and into the west corridor, she wondered if she should have chosen a pale blue to match her eyes or if he would even like her in the deep emerald of Jotunheim. Her cheeks blossomed red but she took in a calming breath to settle her fluttering nerves; she wanted this. She was ready to be made his true wife.

She still had a week before the Fortnight Privilege came into an end, but she was tired of stealing fleeting kisses in darkened alcoves. She could break the Privilege early if she felt she was ready for it, it was her well within her rights as Jotun woman—and she was considered such with marrying a Jotun man—and she knew she as ready.

Turning from the west corridor and entering into the main citadel of Utgard, she ducked into a side stairway, being careful to use a lesser used route so as to avoid causing a stir in gossip amongst the palace servants. Following the stairs up to the next landing she entered onto the floor with the king's chambers. Ducking through an archway guarded on either side by warriors, she nodded briefly to them while averting her eyes, shyly. She nearly ran the rest of the way down a short stretch of stone corridor with only one door set in the walls—a grand wooden door carved with a long forgotten king—and she hurriedly slid the iron key she was given just for this purpose into the lock, slipping into the king's chamber.

Unlike her own set of rooms, there was no sitting area, rather the hallway entered right into the large bedchamber. To the right was a four-poster bed covered in thick pelts of wolf fur—it was a tradition for a Jotun man's bed to be only warmed by his wife and the furs he hunted himself—while the left stone wall was dominated by a large hearth that roared with warm, red tongues, fighting the early Jotun autumn chill.

Loki had yet to arrive for the evening.

Untying her cloak, she made her way across the chamber to a plain door, peering in to find an extensive closet. She shuffled in, using the light the fireplace to peer into the dark and hang her cloak amongst the multitude that belonged to the king. She heard the main door squeak open and snap shut, making her heart freeze inside her chest and her breath catch in her throat.

There was the unmistakable noise of feet in soft-leather boots crossing the chamber, pausing only briefly which was followed by dull thuds and the booted footsteps were replaced by bare feet slapping cold stone. The footsteps drew nearer until they came to the closet door, and Sigyn watched with wide-eyes as a callused hand reached through the already opened door, pushing it open farther.

He appeared in the doorframe, his head bent in concentration as he held his cloak, already shed, in his arms. He paused for a moment, almost as if sensing her presence and his emerald eyes flicked up to see her standing there, her red hair catching the firelight and making her outlined in a glow of gold. He blinked at her once before moving closer, Sigyn finding herself rooted to the spot, and he reached around her to hang up his own cloak. His warm breath tingling her already flushed cheeks, before his large, warrior hands took hold of her soft, delicate ones and he lead her from the closet and back into the bedchamber, his emerald eyes roaming over her form, lingering for a moment at her deep collar, before returning to meet her eyes.

His black eyebrows furrow. "Are you sure about this? You don't have to…" He trailed off, for both of them knew exactly what he was offering. Sigyn offered no verbal response, only taking a small step forward and letting a lingering hand trail across his bare chest, feeling the smoothness of his skin and the slickness of the blue paint that marked him. He leaned into her touch, watching her intently as her fingers sketched the markings that decorated his skin.

Finally, he reached a hand up to her cheek, guiding her soft lips to his own, kissing her chastely. When she softly sighed into his mouth, he dared to kiss her once more, a smile curling his lips when she allowed him entrance to her mouth and his tongue explored the crevices. His arms drew her close so that her chest was pressed against his. His fingers tangled themselves in her beautiful, soft curls, loosening them from their intricate arrangement, before his hands trailed down her bare neck and traced her collarbone.

Sigyn's limber hands intertwined themselves in his hair, wrapping tendrils of coal black hair around each of her long fingers all while pulling his head closer to her, deepening their kiss even further.

He kissed her hungrily before his tongue retreated from her mouth. Kissing the corners of her lips, he moved to trace a string of kisses along her jaw-line. Loki, seeming displeased by the separation between the two that her gown made, nimbly undid the leather bindings around her waist before sliding his hands across her shoulders and pushed aside the fur-lined collar. The cool air of the bedchamber met her pale skin, sending an involuntary shiver coursing through her body. Taking notice of this, Loki scooped her easily into his arms, holding her close to his chest, and laid her carefully onto the bed. Not allowing him to move away from her, Sigyn reached up to grab his arm and pulled him down upon her, crushing her lips against him. She could feel his smile against her lips.

He pulled away for a brief moment, whispering huskily, his warm breath heating her cheek, "I love you." There was no need for conversation after that, as the two used actions instead of words that night, to show their love for one another.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm not so sure about the last part. I've never written anything like that and I think its kind of awkward. I hope its alright. Anyway, I was wondering who was your all favorite OCs? I would love to know who you like and hate! As always, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and please leave me a review!


	16. Turncloaks

**Chapter Sixteen—Turncloaks**

**Warnings: **Violence

* * *

Dim sunlight broke through the slits in the heavy curtains drawn loosely over the king's chambers twin set of windows, gently prodding the occupants of the room into wakefulness. Sigyn shifted as the light tickled her eyelids, begging to be allowed into her vision. She curled instinctively into the warmth at her side, allowing her eyelids to flutter up only a crack and adjust to the light.

The first thing she became aware of upon opening her eyes was that she wasn't in her own bedchamber, the usual plush tapestries being replaced by the great, yawning mouth of a fireplace, the red embers glowing in the hearth. Then, she shifted her attention towards the warmth at her side, encircling her shoulders and waist, and found her head resting on the chest of Loki. One of his arms was about her torso, his calloused hands resting on her hip, offering a sense of protection.

The furs that covered them had crept down to expose his muscular chest in his sleep and Sigyn moved a gentle hand to place on the slight rise and fall of it as he breathed. His skin was pale where the blue Markings did not cover it, an unattractive attribute amongst Asgardians, yet on him, it seemed perfect. Tracing circles into his skin, she could feel the rippling muscles underneath the pads of her fingers, a constant reminder that the man she now was wife to was a fearsome, deadly warrior. He could just as easily break a man's arm as he could take a life, a thought that sent a shiver—of terror or awe, Sigyn could not say—through her.

Suddenly, Loki's hand, the one not resting upon her hip, came up to capture hers, stilling her movement. He brought her palm up to meet his lips, pressing a kiss into the center of it before intertwining their fingers. Her eyes followed his movement and, meeting her blue gaze, he smiled contently, saying, "Good morning, my queen."

"Good morning, my love," she replied as he sat up slightly so as to kiss her briefly before shifting so he could hold her closer to his chest. Allowing his strong hands to draw her close, until her head was tucked under his chin in an undeniably comfortable position, she asked, "I suppose we shall have to get ready for the day soon to allow the servants in to tidy?"

"I'll send a message for them to clean our chambers last," Loki replied, his voice still blurred with sleep as he relinquished a hand from around her to flick his fingers, sending a magical orb into existence and hurrying from the room. Sigyn, smiling at his usage of the word 'our', placed a kiss upon his chest to show her gratitude before the two settled for another few hours of peace together.

* * *

"I can't believe they're really expecting us to make it to the border by tomorrow," muttered Ull, shouldering his quiver, trying in vain to relieve the pinching pain as the weight bit into his skin.

"The brass are too green to know a broadsword from a rapier, of course they're expecting us to complete a march in an impossible amount of time," replied Bragi, shielding his eyes against the sun.

The Aesir century, attached to the first Idavoll cohort to be commissioned to move north and protect the border, was stuck somewhere in the middle of a very long, seemingly endless, column of legionaries. The air was thick with the dust of the road stirred by previous soldiers and the air was repressive with heat, the late summer sun unrelenting and stinging the eyes almost as much as the dust. The century had marched from the city's gates six days ago, covering the distance that would usually take ten days at a standard marching rate. Along the way, they collected centuries attached to the other three cohorts of Asgard—as the fifth, the North, was already stationed at their destination—and several new officers for the Idavoll centuries.

Bragi, his eyes shaded by his hand, narrowed his eyes at Aesir's new officer, Commander Fitch. He was one of the new officers, coming from the southern cohort and eager to kill his share of Jotun. "Bragi, there's no use going on about Fitch, he's our commander now, not Foreseti; nothing we can do about it," mumbled Hod, who was looked the worst for wear of the group, deep circles underlining his eyes. If the march had been Helheim for the other centurions, it was infinitely worse for Hod. He had trouble with sleeping, something Ull referred to as 'insomnia' though no one particularly listened to him, and marching double time across the country in the scorching heat was taking a grievous toll on him.

"Fitch is nothing more than a lad—look at him, Hod! You have to admit," Bragi replied, gesturing to Fitch, who rode at the head of the Aesir century portion of the column. Fitch was fresh faced and bright eyed, as a legionnaire would classify him, and looked like a child playing soldier atop his destrier. Hod casted Bragi a dry look, obviously not inclined to reply. Bragi smirked and crowed, "Even Hod agrees!"

"Bragi, I never said I did," Hod muttered, trying his best not to lose his temper with his friend.

"But you never disagreed," Bragi replied stoutly.

"What I would like to know is why _any_one thought it was a good idea to replace Foreseti," Ull observed before adding, more to himself than any of his companions, "He's the best goddamn officer in the whole Empire."

"Not that I don't wholly agree, but that it isn't a terribly difficult achievement," Bragi grumbled.

"Yes, but Fitch obviously doesn't know what he's doing and if he can't handle a century on a march, how in Helheim is he supposed to lead us in battle—he'll get us all killed!" Ull replied. As if to prove his point, Fitch's horse shied away from a glare casted by a centurion's armor, sending Fitch nearly tumbling from his saddle.

"The Emperor help us," muttered Hod.

"The Emperor?" snorted Bragi, "He's the one that landed us with this guy."

"Thor," Ull said, noticing that the large, blond man that marched at his side hadn't spoken. "Are you feeling well, my friend?"

Thor glanced up from where his focus had been solely on his leather sandals, his thoughts occupied with the images of Sigyn lying in Jotunheim, her blue eyes glassy, her skin devoid of color, and her crimson blood staining the pure white snow, having been murdered by the treacherous Jotuns. The same people who had dared to break the treaty and attack Asgard.

Finding Ull's worried face blinking up at him, Thor feigned an easy smile, saying lightly, "I am perfectly well, merely occupied with my own thoughts. I am sorry if I worried you."

"You didn't worry me," quipped Bragi.

"Nobody inquired if you were worried or not, Bragi," Hod replied dryly. Ull, ignoring the two, gave Thor a searching look for a moment longer before seeming to deem him simply preoccupied. Finally, the archer patted Thor's arm before turning his attention to join Hod in attempting to keep Bragi's rather large ego from inflating any farther.

Thor observed their banter, smiling slightly at his companions' antics, and feeling a stab of guilt for it. He was being dishonest with them, betraying their friendship by lying to them about his identity and his true emotions. Though he would never admit it, even to himself, he wished he had the courage to tell them of his past and his worries for Sigyn—not just as their princess but as his sister. Yet, he was too ashamed and afraid, fearing he would loose their friendship and respect if they knew of his disgrace. It was a thought that put little faith in his companions' acceptance of him but Thor could foresee little other outcome.

He would lose his new life and reputation as a simple legionnaire, masterful handling of the sword aside, as well as his new friends. He couldn't loose any more of them, he feared he would be utterly alone if he did. Rejected and a disgrace, that's all he could ever amount to be if his identity was known.

So, he kept his tongue and his burdens of worry silent, instead bearing the thought of his baby sister, his precious sister that he could not protect from the savage Jotuns, to himself.

* * *

Chaos. Everywhere was complete and utter chaos. The air, once only carrying the scent of sweat and dust, was tinged with the metallic, rotting odor of blood festering in the heat. Bodies were strewn across the road, in the ditches, and into the surrounding forests. Not a single soldier, Asgardian or Jotun, paused as fellow soldiers were cut down, letting them fall as they may.

It was the most horrifyingly gruesome battle—nay, not a battle; battle implied glory and honor, this was a _massacre_—that Thor had ever witnessed.

Aesir century had been nearly two miles from the bridge that spanned the Ifing River on the northwest road, the road that was to lead to their encampment twelve miles from Lyfjaberg, when they came across preceding centuries engaged in fierce battle with Jotuns. Blood was flowing freely, the Jotuns attacking quickly, mercilessly, leaving the Asgardian forces confused and scrambling to formulate some sort of semblance of the formations they had been drilled to battle in as a unit. The Jotuns knew their enemy to well; not allowing the legionnaires to regroup as, individually, the Asgardians stood little chance. It had been a very well planned ambush, Thor would have to concede; this was a well-executed plan on the part of the Jotuns.

Upon entering the chaos, Aesir had scattered with Commander Fitch tumbling from his warhorse as it reared, leaving the century leaderless and helpless. Legionnaires broke formation, the confusion of the battle driving them to terror. Thor watched his fellow soldiers for only a fleeting moment before he was drawing his blade as a Jotun warrior was charging him, voicing a battle cry.

Steel met steel, the Jotun covered in blue paint wielding a quick spear while Thor was armed only with his short, plain centurion sword. The two exchanged parries, the Jotun looking for an opening in Thor's defenses, hoping for a quick jab that would lead to a quick death, while Thor's keen blue gaze never left the blur of the spearhead. It was a long exchange between the two, both becoming reckless with their strikes in their frustration.

Just as Thor's sword was aimed to deal a heavy strike to his foe's shoulder, there was a distinctive whistling and suddenly Thor found his opponent falling face forward, towards him. Quickly side stepping the Jotun's corpse, Thor glanced up to see Ull, bow raised towards the Jotun. "You were taking too long," Ull explained, his pleased smirk curling his mouth.

Grinning back at him, Thor took a quick assessment of the situation around them; he stood where the Aesir century formation used to be in the road. Around him lay bodies of other legionnaires and Jotuns alike—he was relieved to see he saw neither Bragi nor Hod amongst the slain—and beyond, farther along the road, in the ditches, and into the forests, the battle continued to rage. "What is the plan?" Thor questioned, his blue gaze returning to Ull.

"I'm just the archer! We're not usually the one with the plans!" Ull replied, waving his bow briefly to illustrate his exasperation before he expertly drew an arrow from his quiver, loading and firing it off to his left, downing yet another Jotun.

"We need to find a defendable position, where the Jotuns can't ambush us from every direction and we can protect ourselves until reinforcements arrive," Thor replied, frowning and surveying the surrounding forest.

Before Ull could respond, a trio of Jotun warriors had broken from the underbrush just off the road, charging the two centurions. Thor made quick work of slashing down one of the Jotuns while Ull managed to string two arrows simultaneously and let them fly, injuring the remaining two. With merciful blows of a quick death, Thor pierced each of their hearts in turn.

Pulling his sword for their corpses, Thor used his red cloak to wipe the blood from his sword, knowing it to be bad luck to keep the blood of his enemies fresh on his steel. "Thor! Ull!" a familiar voice called.

Thor's face held a relieved grin before he laid eyes on Bragi and Hod running towards them from within the forest. "Glad to see you two jokers are still alive," Bragi greeted with an easy smile.

"We were worried you two were caught up in the bloodbath when the Jotuns attacked the column," Hod said, once the two were standing on the road with Thor and Ull. Hod, where he had been dead on his feet for the past week, now held energy and stimulation in his frame, his eyes alight with the excitement of battle and the dark blotches that made his face appear gaunt, now seemed forgotten.

"And we worried you had been slain in the forest," Thor replied, not helping to keep the relieved smile that his companions were yet alive from his face.

"How did you two manage to wander off so quickly?" Ull inquired, notching another arrow onto his bow in preparation for the next onslaught of Jotuns.

Bragi shrugged, fiddling with the buckles on his gauntlets, as he replied, "I suppose it was just the blur of battle."

At this Hod scoffed, "This is hardly a battle."

Nodding, Thor added, "More of a well-planned massacre. I wonder if the attacks on the border were just the bait for the trap."

Ull opened his mouth to reply to this before he snapped it shut, his eyes narrowing as he listened to the forest around him. It was faint, muted by the sounds of blades clashing and men's dying screams farther into the woods, yet it was there. The steady rhythm akin to that of a heartbeat. At this point, the other three companions had fallen silent, taking note of the archer's intense gaze. "A rider is approaching on horseback," Ull spoke, breaking the silence.

"Form a defensive position," Thor commanded, becoming the de facto leader of the quartet. The men obediently shifted into formation, shifting themselves so they all had their backs to one another and each was facing a different direction. Ull held the position facing that of the approaching hoof beats. They worked fluidly and naturally, a testimony to the rigorous training they had underwent during the many long months under the blazing Idavoll sun.

A heavy silence settled over the legionnaires, all narrowing their gaze and keeping careful surveillance of the surrounding forest, should their enemy spring from the underbrush. Then, Ull hissed, "There," just as a rider appeared around the bend of the stretch of road Ull was keeping watch on. He immediately recognized the glint of Empire armor and the navy blue and red of the Aesir century. Lowering his bow only slightly, not allowing himself to be deceived by any trickery the Jotuns may have conceived in an attempt to take the remaining legionnaires unaware, Ull fixed his keen gaze upon the approaching rider.

When he came near enough for Ull to recognize his face, the archer nearly shouted with joy. "Captain!" Ull cried, never before being so glad to see a person in his life.

Captain Foreseti, pulling his helm from his blond head, smiled wearily at his former soldiers. "Centurion Ull, Bragi, Thor, and Hod," Foreseti greeted with an incline of his head to each. "I could have known you'd be the ones still remaining."

"Where have you been, Captain?" questioned Thor, breaking the quartet's formation to go stand beside the Captain's horse.

"I was placed farther back on the line, working in the supply wagons. When I heard tell that the Idavoll centuries were scattered and mostly dead, I requested a commission to try to save my former men," Foreseti replied, gazing at the dead bodies of the legionnaires he had led on marches with sadness clearly written across his face.

"We missed you, Captain. Fitch was completely incompetent," Bragi replied before mumbling to Hod, "I told you he'd get us killed."

Hod scowled at Bragi but did not reply. Foreseti glanced down at Bragi, his face holding a frown before he said, "We must gather the remaining men of the Aesir. We'll have to return back to regroup with the centuries about five miles back down the road if we hope to stand a chance of surviving through this day." With that, the Captain swung down off his horse, keeping hold of the reins.

The four legionnaires fell in behind their Captain. At least one good thing came from this chaos: they had gotten their leader back. But the price, none of the companions would deny, was too grievous a one.

* * *

"Your Majesty," the farmer began after he bowed before his sovereign ruler. "I am but a humble sheep rancher. I sell my wares to your fine palace and to the surrounding villages and without my wool, many people would freeze in the harsh months of winter. Yet, my sheep dog has recently died and now I have no companion to help tend to my sheep. I have attempted to find a new dog to train, but there are no pups suited for herding to be found. I ask that Your Majesty would grant me a dog to help me herd."

Loki, attempting his utmost to stay at attention for yet another of the commoner's complaint, nodded faintly, waving a hand to one of the attendants. "Grant this man a pup from the royal herding dogs but in exchange, he must exhibit every month that he is training and caring for this pup well."

"Thank you, your Majesty," the farmer replied, gratefully as he deeply bowed and scuttled away from the throne. Loki watched him go with tired eyes. Today was the day that Thiazi was due to return to Utgard and his mind churned with every possibility on the outcome. Would he return with a declaration of war? Would he be assassinated in the very throne he currently perched upon?

As the next commoner shuffled forward—Loki recognized her, he inwardly groaned, as the woman who had argued with her neighbor over their hens—a side door to the throne room swung open to admit Mim into the hall. The royal advisor hurried to the dais, bowing briefly to the King for formality's sake before bounding up the steps to his side. "Loki, Thaizi is in the courtyard, demanding an audience with you."

Loki's blood ran cold. He stared at Mim's urgent face for a long moment before nodding. "Granted, you may escort him in." The royal advisor's body tensed at that. Mim knew Loki's answer and he knew the danger of it. Thiazi has proven that he wasn't to trusted and Mim wished with every fiber of his being that Loki could simply imprison him. Yet, thus was not the way of politics.

Bowing again, Mim exited the way he came. Loki shifted his gaze from his friend's retreating back to announce to the hall, "Pardon, good people of Jotunheim, but I must adjourn our gathering." There was some mumbling in reply to this, but soon the throne room was devoid of commoners. Loki stood from his throne and gestured for the captain of his guard to attend him, saying when the man had reached the foot of the dais, "Assign all soldiers and guards to entrances and exits of the throne room. I want there to be no hole for the Lord Thiazi to slip through." The captain bowed to the king before hurrying from the throne room to do as he was bid.

Loki stood silent and alone in the throne room, feeling alone and vulnerable. He could see no way for him to come through his meeting unscathed, for him to win. Thiazi, still playing the part of an ally, had plotted against him and Loki had sent him to conference with a known rebel, the two most likely having perfected their plot to overthrow him. Yet, he had sent him willingly for there was no other choice he had. He had commanded his own death, his thoughts couldn't help but conclude, and he found himself thinking of his queen—his beautiful, loving queen—looking at him with her blue eyes.

Those blue eyes he could get lost in for hours, the blue eyes that made him want to protect her no matter what the cost and for her—not himself—did his heartache. Thiazi would murder him and would either force Sigyn into being his wife or kill her alongside Loki. He knew it was irrational, the last consequence he should be focusing on with the threat along the borders and the country teetering on the edge of ruin, but he could not draw his mind from it.

Then the side doors of the throne room were flung open and out poured columns of Utgard's guardians. They flanked the walls, those standing at attention next to the doors crossing their pikes over them, not allowing for entrance or exit. The captain of the guard was the last to enter, through the great doors. He stood for a moment, observing his men, before bowing briefly to his king and taking up his own position at the great doors alongside his lieutenant.

Loki nodded to his men, silently thanking them for their service, before returning to his seat on the throne. He stared expectantly at the great doors, finding himself ready for whatever would happen. He did not fear for himself, he realize in that moment, and for that, he knew himself to infallible of any treachery that was bound to greet him as soon as Thiazi stood before him. His hand instinctively came to grasp Gungnir; perhaps he could spear Thiazi before he had the chance to think. He smirked at the thought.

Then, rounding the corridor that fed into the throne room, came the Lord of Thrymheim, flanked by Mim to his right and, to his left, a tall man, his face marred by scars. The man was one Loki had never seen before, as he was sure he would remember such a face, but his mind offered him little room to speculate upon it, much to preoccupied with studying the Lord. Thiazi walked with an awkward, stiff gait, his face riddled with pain and his shoulders held rigidly. Loki observed this in one glance, his grip tightening on Gungnir the only indicated of his uneasiness.

When they had reached the base of the dais, Mim stepped to stand to the King's right and Thiazi offered Loki a taut bow before straightening and inclining his head to look directly up at the King. There was something in his eyes—how they were so wide, as if he was begging Loki for help—that unsettled the King, especially how they contrasted so greatly with the firm set of the Lord's face. "King…Loki of…Jot…un…heim," Thiazi spoke, his voice slow as if he was fighting against every word he spoke. "I…have come…to…wat…ch…you b…urn."

Thiazi's body violently shook and suddenly the stiff expression dropped and Thiazi's regular speaking voice returned to him as he hurriedly begged, "Please, my King, I am being controlled—" but he could continue no further, as his body went rigid once more as a faint trickle of blood pooled from his temple and threaded its way down the side of his face. Thiazi's eyes stared at Loki for a moment, his mouth working for words, before his eyelids slammed shut and he fell to the emerald carpet, coughing up blood and bile.

It was then that Loki caught sight of what the marred man was doing, once blocked to him by Thiazi. The man's hand was extended towards Thiazi, a malevolent smile curling his face. It was manipulation magic, only the most powerful of sorcerers capable of using it and something Loki had only read about. "Dearest Thiazi, you were doing so well!" the man cooed to the Lord, writhing on the floor. "Such a shame, isn't it?" This time, his words were addressed to Loki. "Playthings break so easily."

Loki raised a black eyebrow at the man, not allowing his facial expression to change from the smooth mask he had set. "I don't believe you've been introduced, pray tell, what are you called?"

Smirking, the man replied, "A wise thing to say, your _Majesty,_" he spit out the title, mockingly, "to ask so politely the name of the man that will end you. I am Hrimgrimnir, the cold winds of the mountains and bane of Jotunheim's people. A fitting name, wouldn't you agree?"

"A name given to yourself, then," Loki replied, neutrally. "I suppose you could have chosen worse to inspire fear."

Hrimgrimnir's smile widened at that, exposing blackened and broken teeth, as if his mouth had been set aflame, leaving it scorched. "It is a great pleasure to meet you at long last, your Majesty. It really has been so boring manipulating that puny lord in Vingolf but when you sent down this one," he kicked Thiazi sharply in the ribs like a unruly mutt, making the Lord double over in pain. "It was like dropping a wrapped parcel into my lap. How very thoughtful of you."

There was a long pause. "Are you here to kill me with your magic then?" Loki questioned, his voice icy cold and his grip tightening on Gungnir, every muscle in his body ready to launch him into action, a spell for binding Hrimgrimnir ready to be spoken.

"My dearest King, as one sorcerer to the other, I think that hardly good sportsmanship. No, I'm not going to kill you now! I agree that would be quite simple, but not nearly as fulfilling. I simply came to say hello and return your pet to you," Hrimgrimnir replied, indicating Thiazi, before adding with an apologetic grin, "Sorry if he's not quite what he was before."

Standing from his throne so he towered dauntingly over the smiling sorcerer, Loki said, "I warn you against proceeding with this plan; it will only end in your demise."

"How lovely, our end goals are the same! Watching each other burn," Hrimgrimnir said with a serene smile. Loki, before he could stop his actions, swung Gungnir around, the spear acting as a magical conductor, and shot a bright burst of blue magic, a binding spell. With lazy ease, Hrimgrimnir flicked his fingers and deflected the attack. "Well, I think this has been a very productive little chat," he said before mockingly bowing to Loki, "Until next time, your Majesty."

Then, grasping his dull yellow cloak, Hrimgrimnir pulled it around him, seeming to pull the shadows from the crevices of the walls and weaving them into the cloak. After a moment, the sorcerer was engulfed in darkness before he suddenly vanished in the blink of an eye. Loki shouted in frustration, bounding down the dais to the spot the man had stood only seconds before but could sense no remaining magic, no indication on where he had commanded the magic to take him.

A coughing drew his attention and he glanced down to Thiazi, whose mouth was working to form words. Crouching down, Loki was able to make out his whispered report, "The southern lords have sworn their allegiance to him. They are wearing his colors." Thiazi coughed, blood splattering the floor around him. "Turncloaks."

* * *

He received the declaration later that evening, when he was in his study. Mim had handed it to him with a solemn expression, knowing what was inside the tightly wrapped parchment without needing to break the wax seal with the sigil of Asgard imprinted on it. The Empire had declared war on Jotunheim for the attacks on the northern parts of Asgard as well as the slaughter along the northern roads.

Loki ran a hand through his thick black hair.

* * *

**A/N:** I really must apologize for the super long wait and I also must thank all of you, my dear readers, for sticking with this tale. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
